From Oblivion
by CorvusAlbus
Summary: An ancient alien temple has been uncovered and the Warp-tainted artefacts within are being sold across the Imperium. The Deathwatch Kill-team Schiavona is sent to destroy it and kill the heretics and kroot guarding the ruin. And darker things lurk there, summoned to this world, but the team is not alone, as another player with her own goals has come to take advantage of the attack.
1. Prologue

**Author's Note:** This short-story and now novella, was once a submission to Black Library back in January; for reasons explained already in the "Author's Note" of"In Darkest Night"(another short-story with the same Kill-team; if you haven't yet, feel free to read and review) I decided to post it here. For additional background I added this short prologue and an epilogue that weren't part of the original short-story, which itself was already a little over 16.000words long and has not been changed.

* * *

 **From Oblivion**  
 **Prologue**

The room was kept in twilight and what little light there was, was of a purple hue. White smoke billowed lazily in the air, crawling around pillars, over tables and loungers, which were well-cushioned and covered with expensive silk. The air itself was warm and even somewhat humid, heavy with the sweet scent of perfume and the grey fumes excreted by some intoxicating plants that was mingling with the dominating white smoke.

Music echoed through the windowless hall, slow and sensual, the only sound except for hushed words and occasional laughter or chuckles. At the centre of the room was some sort of round, open fireplace made of stone, though the wood wasn't truly burning. The white smoke spread from there, a dozen people having gathered around it. They enjoyed drink and food, while a woman nearby played a flute-like instrument, shaped like a 'Y', her fingers running over the holes of the two tilted arms.

She didn't even truly know what she was playing; somehow the music just appeared in her head, demanding to be played. Even to her it was hypnotic. She couldn't stop her fingers from moving and she didn't want to, even if she had to give her final breath for this music. It was so wonderful, utterly fulfilling…she felt it in every fibre of her being, her heart having long adjusted to its rhythm.

For a moment the musician's eyes opened and she looked at the object standing in the fireplace. It looked like an urn of some kind, made from basalt-like stone. The most beautiful aspect of this object however were the engraved ornaments. They were of alien creatures, two-legged and reptilian in appearance, with long tails and clawed feet. The bodies were humanoid and covered with scales, though the heads appeared bird-like, with a curved beak full of teeth and fierce eyes, several small horns growing from the back of their heads, almost like crests. They were so detailed that the musician almost expected them to move to the music.

The woman closed her eyes again and continued to play the song, her mouth already dry, her lips chapped. She shifted her feet, or what used to be human feet; her legs were now ending in delicate, ebony hooves like those of a deer. She didn't even care when two small horns began to grow from her temples, breaking slowly through her pale skin. There was only the music, this perfect composition of sound.

Once more she opened her eyes, seeing another woman admiring beautiful scales in shimmering colours that were now growing along her arms. The woman was so mesmerised that she didn't even notice how the man sitting behind her on the lounger began to kiss her shoulder and neck, his hands starting to roam her body.  
The musician looked back to the smoke, her gaze now being met by two utterly black, slanted eyes, outlined by the silhouette of an elongated face, crowned by several horns of varying length. It was as if the smoke itself formed this being, the musician's heart racing, not because of fear but excitement.

 _Play._

The sweet, velvet voice was suddenly in her head and without objection she obeyed, as she had done before. It had been this voice, which had explained to her how the build the flute and had taught her to play it to its liking. Oh, she was a dedicated student and she would continue to follow its teachings; she would reach perfection! Her body began to sway and her thoughts became clouded. The contours of a body began to appear in the smoke, wide shoulders with four limbs attached. It would join them here soon!

 _Go on. Play, little bird._

How could she possibly refuse? Her lungs were beginning to hurt and the sweet, metallic taste of blood was in her mouth, but she cared for neither. There was the gently touch of long fingers upon her cheek and she leaned into it...

Suddenly the door on the far side of the hall burst open, the wood broke as the wing was torn from the hinges. Weapons were fired, laser and ballistic alike. She could hear how stone was broken and furniture was torn to shreds, people screaming in pain. From the corner of her eyes the musician saw those who were still unharmed run, red flashes passing by, barely missing. Somewhere a male voice shouted orders, but the woman couldn't make them out. She was now cowering at the ground, her back pressed against what had been her seat, her gaze still upon the shape in the smoke. Fear had dug its claws into her; she didn't want to die, not now, not when she was so close!

 _Finish the song._

She nodded once, her eyes widened with fright; they would come for her as well. She needed to hurry, she could not disappoint it.

 _Finish the song and you'll be safe._

The musician believed it without even a touch of doubt. She would be safe, she would live. All she needed to do was play its music. She was so certain by now that this wondrous creature had provided her with this symphony that it was somehow feeding it to her mind. Oh, what else could it show her, make her experience?

Suddenly someone emerged from the shadows and as she turned her head she saw that he was wearing the heavy, bluish-grey armour of the Adeptus Arbites, a maul in his right hand, a rectangular shield in his left. Frightened she stared at him, watching him lift the maul, his expression hidden by a face-concealing helmet. Tears ran from her eyes; no, not now!  
A ghostly hand reached out for him, took hold of the metal collar and tossed his body away like a doll. The head hit one of the pillars and the Arbitrator remained motionless on the ground.

Relief washed through her veins; it truly protected her. It were now tears of gratefulness and gladness that gathered in her eyes…and cold steel pierced her neck from behind. Her body stiffened as she felt the blade going through her flesh and emerging at her throat. The music stopped, the mouth-piece of her flute slipping slowly from her chapped lips. No! Impossible; it watched over her...did it not?  
An angry hiss filled the room and she saw how the shape of smoke was torn apart, as if a silent explosion was taking place, only affecting the creature. The smoke that had filled the entire room sunk to the floor, remaining there like a layer of fog, exposing the urn upon the now dead fireplace.

The blade was pulled from her neck and her body collapsed. She felt the pain, but it was…pleasant. It was so intense, stimulating every fibre like the music had, if more crudely that she could not help but enjoy it. And she would follow whereto the creature had already gone, away from this dismal place.

The musician smiled even as the blood ran from her wound, her head on the cold floor. She looked upon the man, who had killed her as he approached the urn. The energy sword was still in his hand, her blood dripping from its tip. Aside from his weapon, she only saw the dark coat he wore and a silver badge, a shimmering column with a white skull; an Inquisitorial Rosette.

Her sight darkened and the world turned black. And then she felt nothing anymore.

* * *

Inquisitor Jeremias Lysander looked upon the hive-planet below his ship as he stood alone on the observation deck. It had been a few days since he and his Acolytes, along with the Adeptus Arbites, had rooted out the Slaaneshi cult. Usually such would be the work of the Ordo Hereticus, but this investigation had not begun with worshippers of the Ruinous Powers.

The elderly looking man stroke his short, well-trimmed, white goatee thoughtfully as he recalled the events that had started everything. Imperial agents had found evidence that the great merchant house of Vendedor was trading with xenos and he had begun investigating them. Posing as a trader himself, he had managed to purchase several goods of none-human origin, mostly having been acquired originally in the Tau Empire.

But Lysander had waited, he had wanted to know the exact extent of Vendedor's trade and relations with the xenos. The Inquisitor had sent his agents to uncover all who had close connections to the house, while he himself had continued on to play his role, slowly gaining the trust of the man he'd first begun to transact business with.

Finally the rather high-ranking family member had granted him to see more exclusive commodities. It was then that Lysander had first laid eyes on tainted xeno artefacts. While not a psyker himself, Jeremias Lysander had been around long enough to sense such unholy powers and the small statue he'd seen had radiated with it.

In that moment he had realized that waiting any longer was not an option.

With the help of his operatives, he'd gotten his hands on private communications as well as records and in a staged heist had stolen the statue, along with other commodities to conceal the true purpose of the break-in.

In the intensive studies following the theft, Lysander had learned that Vendedor had sold several of these objects and his psykers had revealed that the artefact was not only tainted by the ruinous powers, but also contained a trapped daemon. Several of his psykers had lost their minds to gain this information and the Inquisitor had executed more than one himself. He had then sworn that he would find each of those artefacts and see to their destruction. As well as the destruction of Vendedor itself.

Since then they had tracked down every object of the same nature as the statue, had brought justice to those foolish enough to use them like the Slaaneshi cult and now everything was finally in place to strike at the house itself. Before Vendedor would realize who was coming for them, they would be crushed by the Inquisition and their fellow servants of the undying Emperor of mankind.

While he reflected on the past events, he heard the door sliding open behind him, followed by the sound of footsteps. Someone walked with a swift pace, the noise echoing through the almost empty observation deck, which only contained a few armchairs and low tables. Often the Inquisitor would sit here, either when they arrived at a new world or before a mission. There were few things as wondrous and beautiful to look at as planets from space, no matter how often he saw them.

As the other person came closer, Lysander tore his gaze from the hive-world and looked over his shoulder to see his Interrogator Faruq Hafiz approach him, a data-slate in his right hand. The Interrogator was only in his mid-twenties, his skin tanned, his black hair short and curly. He was neatly dresses with a black vest over his white shirt, with only his heavy boots emerging from his black suit pants falling out of the picture. Faruq looked pleased. "Do I assume correctly that our suspicions are finally confirmed?"

The young man smiled. "Yes, everything leads to the merchant house Vendedor, but no further, every single artefact found; they have not purchased them from anyone else."

"That makes six." The Inquisitor concluded and took the data-slate, skimming the first paragraphs quickly. "They are all of the same origin. Do we know where Vendedor has their source, if not through trade?"

Hafiz nodded and tapped on the slate's screen once, opening a new document. "We finally got hold of these particular records. The house has put a lot of resources into expanding their 'mining' enterprise on an uninhabited world named Karpos." He paused, allowing Lysander to flick through the pages until he reached the dispatches. "And internal messaging revealed that not only their own soldiers are protecting their newest property, but also a significant number of kroot mercenaries."

One of the Inquisitor's eyebrows rose. "Well, well; why so much trouble for a few natural resources?" Lysander mused loudly to himself, his eyes still running across the text.

"There is also mention of certain cargo that is occasionally being shipped from there, though its exact nature is never disclosed." Hafiz rubbed his chin, as he often did when something worried or bothered him. "However one transmission mentioned a 'temple' and 'ruin'."

Lysander didn't immediately reply and continued to read, just in case some essential information still escaped him. But it seemed that they had learned all that they could and he looked up from the slate, meeting his Interrogator's gaze. "Then I believe we have all our targets. It's time we make our move against Vendedor and all of its associates."

"I suspect a simultaneous move against all involved?"

The Inquisitor nodded. "Indeed. Navy, Guard, Arbites and of course our own forces; we'll make sure that nothing remains."

"What of Karpos itself? Aside from the kroot and soldiers, there could be more artefacts in that temple, perhaps even daemons." He was obviously troubled by this possibility and rightfully so, his arms now folded in front of his chest. "Should we risk the possible corruption of our soldiers?"

Most people did not even know that daemons existed and for good reason. To task the Imperial Guard with this mission was out of the question; the presents of Chaos alone could be enough to corrupt their faith and make it crumble. Even his own trusted Storm Troopers Lysander did not wish to risk in such manner. He sighed. "No; we cannot anticipate how powerful the influence of the Ruinous Powers is on that world, much less in the temple itself." He perhaps could give this task to a fellow Inquisitor, but there was another option and he began to smile. "We'll send them the Deathwatch." An experienced team could face both aliens, heretics and daemons alike; and it was less likely that one of them got corrupted through the short-term exposure, than Acolytes or common soldiers.

Hafiz nodded slowly, apparently having expected this suggestion. "Then we should contact one of the Fortresses immediately."

The Inquisitor was looking out the window again. His Interrogator was correct; if they wanted to act soon the Deathwatch would have sent their Astartes within the next few days. "Indeed; I even have a Kill-team already in mind."

"Sir?"

"Schiavona." Lysander told him and then turned his head back. "I trust you remember them." The Inquisitor had even led that team himself at one point; well, perhaps it would be more accurate to say that he'd led it along with the Space Wolves Volund Thundertooth. In the past century and a half, the Rune Priest had turned the Astartes under his command into a well-oiled machine.

Another nod and the young man smiled now as well. "I do; it's only been a few years."

"Good and if the past is any indication, they should handle this mission quite well." Briefly he wondered if some members of the team had changed in recent times.

Even though he wouldn't work directly with Schiavona again, Lysander certainly wouldn't mind if that Red Scorpion had returned to his chapter by now; he had been…difficult to work with, a dissonance in an otherwise well attuned squad. Well, perhaps Volund had managed to have him finally fully integrate himself. "Come, we need to compile quite a message for the Astropaths." As he walked Lysander felt quite satisfied and could not deny a certain zest for action; all wheels were finally turning.

* * *

Like a white snake searched the street its way through the Garden of Seers, their temple-like building with its Halls of Everlasting Contemplation at the centre, protruding magnificently beyond the trees. Yaidev looked up to the Towers of Sagacious Foresight, which bordered the dome itself, one for each clan of Saim-Hann. Even as Seers, rivalries between the kindreds were never forgotten, though both garden and temple presented some neutral ground. It had been some years since she'd last visited her ancient home and the eldar felt a touch of nostalgia tug at her heart.

Yaidev was a Pathfinder, a Ranger who had wandered among the stars for centuries and yet had made the decision to remain an outcast instead of returning to her home, unlike most who eventually returned to walk the various Paths of the eldar.

It was a dangerous existence for her, not just physically but for her very soul. Unprotected by the focus a Path provided, her mind and soul were in greater risk of succumbing to temptation, as well as getting lost to She-Who-Thirsts. Therefore the outcasts with their 'turbulent' minds were only briefly welcomed on board a craftworld, as they attracted the attention of daemons and it was for this reason that most outcasts returned to the Paths at some point.

Only those with a strong will and capable of great discipline became Pathfinders, or at least were capable of it. Others who neither gave up wandering and returned, nor had the necessary qualities most Pathfinders possessed could lose themselves to the darker aspects of the eldar nature, essentially becoming as their fallen kin of Commorragh.

But Yaidev had prevailed and continued her travels usually alone, only occasionally joining other outcasts on their journeys, or even Harlequins, who among others had taught her much about swordplay and how to use her psychic abilities safely, despite having left the Paths. She was no Farseer, but the skills she had, had more than once been of great help in various encounters, even lifesaving. And yet she often returned from her journeys to help her kin, whenever there was need of her. This time one of Saim-Hann had called for her, an old friend.

Perhaps it was not strictly true that she was usually alone, though the one to accompany her was not an eldar. Even now as she walked through the garden, a great beast was at her side; a dragonhound.

The animal was build similar to a big cat or wolf, though with no fur, only warm, leathery scales. Its long and narrow head looked like that of a dragon, the teeth of its upper jaw exposed, two small horns growing above his eyes and more like a crest along the back of its skull, starting at the jaw. A slightly longer pair of almost straight horns grew horizontally from its temples and there was a horn growing from each elbow of its front legs and the heels of the hind legs.

From the middle of the skull, along its spine to almost the base of its tail emerged about half a dozen bone-spikes, the longest at the neck about twenty-five centimetres long, leather skin connecting them all, creating a sail-like structure. A similar one was around the last third of its powerful tail, though shaped more like a leave.

Another noticeable feature were the black strips along its body almost like a tiger's if not as long, all connected by a stripe going from the tip of its snout to the tip of the tail, except for those on its upper limbs. The remaining colours were warm and earthy tones, brown at the back, changing into orange to saffron and at last white at its belly and throat. The same colouring was true for the sails, yet without the white.

The eldar called them Peish-Isturrith, whispering reptiles, as they could create rustling noises with their sails, used both for threatening and communication. They could be found on a few Exodite homeworlds and there Yaidev too had found her companion, which she'd named Kurnous, after the ancient and long dead god of the hunt.

Finally Yaidev reached a peaceful pond, bordered by shrubs, which were adored with beautiful flowers, their warm colours reaching from dark red to bright yellow. Weeping willow-like trees let their branches grow towards the water, a few of the silver-green leaves touching upon the surface.

She sat down on a bench next to one such tree, the curtains of leaves parting in front of it like an archway. Kurnous lay down close to her on the lawn, his ever exposed, ebony claws digging a few times into the ground as he stretched his limbs. Yaidev began to tickle him behind its crest, just where the head met with his neck, the hound growling approvingly, the tail moving back and forth across the lawn.

Together they waited for some time, but Yaidev had come early on purpose to enjoy the garden's beauty. Nothing seemed to have changed, as if time itself had stopped on Saim-Hann, forever preserving it in the state she'd left it in about a millennia ago; an illusion of course, but a pleasant one to indulge in for just a while.

The birds sang merrily in the trees and the Pathfinder noted with some amusement that a couple of them eyed Kurnous curiously from a high branch. They certainly had never seen something like him before.

When soft steps could be heard from the path, the dragonhound lifted its head and opened his amber eyes again, fixed on the approaching eldar. Like most Seers he wore long robes of red and white, a green cloth around his abdomen, his dark brown hair falling open over his shoulders today.

He looked at her with a gentle smile as the Pathfinder rose from the bench again. "Yaidev Sionnarie, it is truly a pleasure to see you again."

"Farseer Methran'el; the pleasure is all mine." She replied with a smile of her own, bowing her head respectfully, her right hand placed on top of her heart. "It has been a while since last you've summoned me."

"A long time to be away from your home." Yaidev didn't reply and the Farseer turned to the dragonhound. "Ah, Kurnous; you've grown."

The hound moved his tail again, when Methran'el ran a hand from the top of the snout up to the base of the sail. The elder Farseer had a certain soft spot for all kind of animals, though Yaidev was glad that he'd not brought his gyrinx along; it was difficult to say how Kurnous would react to the cat-like animal. "Yes, he's mature now, though he remains ever playful."

"Certainly he's a welcome companion on your travels."

"Indeed, though I often leave him on my ship." She told him, regarding her Peish-Isturrith. "I do not wish to risk his life needlessly on my missions, especially those I can best perform on my own."

Methran'el removed his hand from Kurnous again and met her gaze, his expression turning sterner; he was clearly deeply concerned. "As a matter of fact I have an important task for you Yaidev, one I wish you to undertake alone." He sighted and retrieved a gem from one of his pockets, doubtlessly containing some sort of information that she would reqiure. "And there is little time left."


	2. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:** Here begins the original short-story, which I've split into three chapters of about 5000-6000 words to make it more assessable, since there will be changes of perspective and such. A few pieces of exposition might get repeated, since I wanted to show how this story was initially supposed to be like. Enjoy.

* * *

 **Chapter 1**

Dawn was slowly approaching, the air still cool and humid, the light faint as if it was still night. Fog was lazily crawling over the ground, a white veil, sneaking over the needle-covered ground and countless roots of conifers. Hardly any other plants grew here, only the trees with their dark green needles, as well as a few shrubs with small, bluish leaves. There was an unnatural quality to the scenery, which one could call unsettling. None of this however bothered the Astartes, as he moved through the endless forest like a shadow, his cloak merging him partially with his surroundings. Despite his size, his footsteps seemed to make no sound, at least none a human would have picked up on, the fog parting wherever he stepped, revealing the brown needles, the soft covering that was being compressed by his weight.

Cyrus looked around, his sight hardly impaired by the conditions. Nothing stirred, there was not even wind, but the first birds could be heard in the trees. Their voices were hardly pleasant and reminded more of the cries of a small reptiles or lizards. Dew had gathered in his short, brown beard as fine pearls of water, shimmering like the water film on his black armour and sniper rifle. There was a scent in the air, one they all had taken notice of almost as soon as they had set foot on the planet. The scent of kroot was spoiling the clean air and it grew stronger; it would seem the patrol, if it could so be called, was not far anymore.

He looked to his right, merely seeing a shadow that indicated Maccius' position. His brother had joined him, while the remainder of the Kill-team followed, keeping some distance to allow their brothers to clear a path. They were part of the Deathwatch, an organisation in service to the Ordo Xenos of the Imperial Inquisition, tasked with seeking and destroying the aliens that threatened humanity. It was considered a great honour to be called to service by them, as only the most elite and experienced members of a Space Marine chapter were ever chosen, though their deeds would forever be kept secret, even from their own brothers.

The Kill-team, the Deathwatch's standard operating unit, which had come to Karpos counted seven Astartes, sent to stop the operations of House Vendedor, nobles, merchants, who had found the ancient remains of an alien temple, once having been built beneath the earth. They had excavated the ruin and ever since were recovering the relics and technology stored within its walls, selling what could be sold across the sector. This alone had been enough to warrant the Inquisition's attention and had started initial investigation.

As the Emperor's servants had uncovered, House Vendedor employed aliens, most notably kroot mercenaries to ensure the safety of their dig site and traded occasionally with tau. When the Inquisition had gotten hold of some of the sold relics it had been revealed that they were not only of alien origin, created by a species unknown to the Imperium, but that they were tainted by the Ruinous Powers. For this reason the Kill-team had been sent, to ensure that whatever was still resting in the temple would be destroyed and not corrupt another faithful soul.

Even now the Inquisitor in charge of the investigation, Jeremias Lysander of the Ordo Xenos, was leading the raid against House Vendedor itself. Nothing would remain of it, neither the House itself nor its fleet and soon its many associates would follow them into oblivion. But those were not the Kill-teams concerns, only the temple itself, along with the heretics and xenos protecting it.

Still, the nature of the technology, the influence, which the Ruinous Powers must have had on those, who had spent time around and in the temple, troubled Cyrus. Who could tell how much they had corrupted those uncovering that place, or the humans and kroot standing watch? The Blood Raven was someone, who anticipated the worst and the Deathwatch was one of the Inquisition's last resorts. Cyrus had little doubt that they would face more than simple mercenaries and a few Vendedor soldiers.

It was another reason why he and Maccius were going ahead. Aside from clearing a path for their brother, in order for the Kill-team to reach the temple in secret and grant them the element of surprise, the two Astartes were meant evaluate the strength of their enemy.

Initial scans from orbit had told them much and revealed the patrol patterns, but the number and positions of soldiers and mercenaries within the valley itself had been so variable that no reliable plan of attack had been made so far. They needed to see the site with their own eyes and prearrange accordingly, just before the assault itself.

As the sun rose somewhere beyond their sight and the forest remained in night-like darkness, Cyrus and Maccius continued on, their black painted armour for once proving to be an advantage in this environment. Only their left, silver arms and shoulder guards, covered with sacred inscriptions and the Deathwatch's badge, a skull upon crossed bones and the inquisitorial 'I', stood out and Cyrus was cautious to keep his covered with the cameleoline cloak.

He was wearing Deathwatch scout armour, light and perfectly suitable for their task, while Maccius wore power armour, but he was of the Raven Guard after all; stealth was second nature to him. His chapter taught a particular way of silent movement called wraith-slipping, allowing him to move around soundlessly even with such heavy armour. Still, he too covered the silver parts of his armour with his own cloak, same as Cyrus.

A loud, animalistic shriek ruptured the relative silence, the birds suddenly stopping their songs in turn. It was the unmistakable voice of a kroot; they had to be very close now. The patrol was indeed near.

...

The fog crawled up the legs of four Space Marines, standing motionlessly in the dark forest. Nadim could smell the distinct, but far from unpleasant scent of coniferous wood, similar to that of the ointments he used for his weapons. The air was cool and clear, a welcomed change from the reprocessed one on the ship and the Salamander had taken his helmet off to enjoy it while he could. As the Devastator of his Kill-team he would soon enough require its integrated systems, but for the moment they were waiting. While Cyrus and Maccius had gone ahead, their leader, the Rune Priest Volund Thundertooth, consulted his runes one last time before they moved out.

The Space Wolf had been leading their Kill-team on several missions, his psychic abilities having often proven of great value to his squad. Nadim had seen him summon storms of ice and lightning, clearing areas with a few words, a terrifying display, but rare as even a powerful Rune Priest had his limits, just like any other psyker. Volund was currently the only one sitting, crossed-legged, an arrangement of wolf teeth in front of him. Each had a symbol carved into it, powerful runes which assisted him in divining the course of their mission.

The thick fog absented itself from the Rune Priest, as if the psychic energies pushed it away, leaving a clear circle. Volund had his eyes closed, his face partially hidden beneath the shadow of his psychic hood, the half-arch that went over his head shaped like a wolf's head. The runes that had been carved in both the wolf teeth and his own armour were glowing with a faint blue light, with only those upon his runic weapon remaining dormant.

Nadim looked to his other brothers. Next to him to his left stood the Brazen Minotaur Dareios, followed by the Red Scorpion Quintus and their veteran Apothecary, the Ultramarine Seneca, the steady rock whenever petty arguments clouded his brothers judgements. They all wore the black painted power armour of the Deathwatch with a silver left arm and shoulder guard, while the right guard showed their individual chapter badges. Dareios was checking on the scope of his Stalker pattern bolter, the chainsword at his side silent for now. The Red Scorpion was similarly equipped, though he carried a Hesh pattern bolter, a pattern exclusively created in the 36th Millennium for the Deathwatch as a reward for their services.

Almost everyone, with the exception of Cyrus and Nadim himself carried a bolter of some pattern, to some extent because each Astartes serving in the Deathwatch could fire this weapon one-handed and still be accurate. Of course the bolter was also synonymous with the Adeptus Astartes and to some extent an item of devotion to the Emperor himself. Still, being both a Salamander as well as a Devastator, Nadim had chosen a heavy flamer for this mission, at the prospect of fighting in the corridors and halls of the alien temple.

Finally Volund opened his eyes, clear and of an icy blue, the runes dimming until the light had vanished. He did not speak at first, merely picked up the wolf teeth and rose to his feet, just as the fog returned and threatened to swallow them. He placed them back into a leather pouch at his belt, regarding his brothers with a troubled expression. "I can see our enemy and our battle with him." The Space Wolf began thoughtfully, his deep voice grim. "But something obstructs my vision, keeping the temple itself hidden from my view."

"Chaos no doubt; if the relics are tainted, how could not everything else appurtenant to them be." The Brazen Minotaur spoke, Volund nodding once.

"My assessment as well, Dareios. The xenos, which once ruled this world, must have been skilled sorcerers; even the traces of their spells are well hidden."

"Does this change our mission?" Quintus' voice sounded indifferent, slightly distorted by the speakers of his helmet.

The Rune Priest looked at the Scorpion, his eyes narrowing. Despite their many years of serving together, Volund and Quintus were still at odds with one another, mostly because the Red Scorpions were utterly devoted to the _Codex Astartes_ , adhered to its every line, even more so than their parent chapter the Ultramarines, while the Space Wolves were considered to be greatly unorthodox. This along with the Scorpions, at obsession bordering maintenance of purity and deep hatred of mutations had caused much conflict within their ranks.

Quintus saw the flaw of mutation in almost all of his brothers. The Wolf's fangs and Nadim's obsidian-black skin and fiery red eyes, even though those were not caused by mutation, but rather by a unique reaction of his Melanochrome gene-seed organ to the conditions of his home planet Nocturne, had all too often served as the instigation for another tirade.

Even Cyrus had received his share, as Quintus knew of the significantly greater than common number of psykers among the Blood Ravens. Interestingly enough the Scorpion's contempt had in part induced the friendship between Cyrus and Volund, most curious as Nadim viewed it, seeing as their respective chapters tended not to get along, in part because of the Blood Ravens' numerous psykers. Though with Volund being one himself, such prejudice had never been much of a concern.

"No, our mission remains unaltered, but as the Inquisitor already feared we might be fighting more than aliens and heretics, though I cannot tell if the heretics are further aided by the powers of the warp, other than by the technology they've found." Volund replied coldly.

"We have prepared for all eventualities." Apothecary Seneca reminded him, before Quintus could reply, his voice calm as always, immediately easing the tension. "And the morning is fast approaching."

"Indeed, so our brothers will soon have completed their task. Let us join them." Volund smiled again, presenting his sharp canine teeth, glinting though his black, partially braided beard. "Before we find the hunt to be already finished."

...

The sound of snarls and growling grew louder with each step, while the birds could no longer be heard at all. Meanwhile the scent of blood became stronger, along with the now pungent smell of kroot, like rotting leather. Silently the two Astartes moved closer, keeping themselves well hidden in the shadows and behind the broad trunks of the conifers.

The ground became sloping, the two Marines finding themselves at the edge of a depression, the fog now running down before them like white water and there was no doubt that the aliens where near the bottom. Cyrus lifted his sniper rifle and surveyed the area through his scope. Even with his enhanced senses, there were some things his eyes could not tell him. He adjusted the sight and activated the thermic imaging function. Like most scouts he wore no helmet and so could not utilize its functions like Maccius could, whose crimson lenses shimmered dimly in the twilight.

His scope revealed footprints on the ground, still warm, made by several kroot, coming from two general directions. They all were leading to a location behind a pair of great conifers and Cyrus had no doubt that the aliens had been hunting some local game and slain it there recently.

The Blood Raven looked to his brother; Cyrus and Maccius had discussed the disposal of the patrols hours ago, deciding on the quiet approach with blade and claw. While Cyrus' sniper rifle was fitted with a suppressor, which made it a relatively silent weapon compared to others in the Adeptus Astartes' arsenal, it was ill suited for groups.

"How many you suppose we'll find down there?" The Raven Guard asked him, his voice low.

At first Cyrus said nothing, regarding the thermic images thoughtfully. "Less than a dozen." He finally replied his own gruff voice only a whisper. "Perhaps a handful. There are only a few tracks as far as I can see."

"The fewer the better I suppose." Maccius noted, his eyes scanning the surrounding forest watchfully. "We are now west of them, we ought to split up and close in from the north and south respectively." With finger he pointed along two lines of trees. "The vegetation there will cover our approach until the last moment."

"If their feast occupies them long enough."

"Then let us begin. I'll go north, move down the depression and signal you once I'm in position." Maccius turned right and was about to get moving, when he looked back over his shoulder. "Do not attack without me, brother; I can't have you take all the glory."

"I shall keep one of them alive for you then." Cyrus promised in unusual good humour, though his face betrayed no emotion, almost retaining his ever grim expression, as did his low voice.

Maccius merely nodded, before he dashed silently into the shadows, without saying another word, the fog swirling behind him like stirred water. One more time Cyrus scanned the depression, but it seemed the Astartes' presence had remained unnoticed. He turned left, following the depression's edge, occasionally trying to spot the Kroot themselves. It was only shortly before reaching the line of trees Maccius had indicated earlier that he saw movements of something humanoid, though shrubs and branches were restricting the view.

Cyrus shouldered his sniper rifle and began his descend down the slope. The thick carpet of brown needles gave way like sand, his boots sinking in deeply. He made no more sounds than the branches around him, which moved in the gentle breeze that had arisen some time ago.

During their countless hours of training, Maccius had greatly helped him improve his skills, though Cyrus not yet matched the Raven Guard's art of wraith-slipping, at least not in power armour. Still, they had spent many days hunting each other down in utter silence and in seemingly perpetual darkness within the inquisitorial fortress, where they had trained. Cyrus had suffered many defeats at first, but they had imprinted Maccius' lesson into his mind. When, if he returned to his chapter one day, Cyrus would pass these lessons on to his initiates, but as it was, his training under the Raven Guard had already proven crucial in a series of solo operations, which Cyrus had been sent on as a Kill-Marine.

Serving as one of the Deathwatch's Kill-Marines had likely been his most curious time with the Chamber Militant, as he had not only been required to complete missions on his own, but also travel and live among none-Astartes, most notably his journey on board a Rogue Trader vessel, which had provided him conveyance on several occasions. Upon his return to the Kill-team Nadim had asked him, whether he'd come to appreciate the people of the Imperium more after those years. To this day Cyrus owed the Salamander an answer, but he was forbidden to discuss his missions and didn't wish to encourage his brother any further.

He advanced from tree to tree, keeping to the deepest shadows. Not even the leaves of the shrubs he passed rustled, only the fog was briefly dispersed wherever he trod. With the cameleoline cloak Cyrus seemed more like a spectre in the morning's twilight. The Blood Raven could hear bones cracking as powerful jaws tore flesh off them and he pressed his body against a broad trunk. Cautiously Cyrus peeked around the tree, for the first time getting a good view at the patrol they had been looking for.

Six kroot were feasting upon a carcass, some local game of the size of a horse, but covered with feathers, respectively three of the carnivorous aliens to both sides of it, along with a kroot hound. The xenos seemed to feel safe, none minding their surroundings. Even the hound was content with chewing on a leg a few meters apart from the group.

The aliens were truly hideous, no more appealing to the eye than an ork. The humanoid aliens were taller than a normal human, with slender limbs, each with four digits at their hands and feet, ending in sharp claws. They had an almost bird-like and jagged beak with quite an underbite, their eyes comparatively small and narrow. Long quills protruded from the back of their heads instead of hair, while smaller quills could be found scattered across their bodies. Their leathery skin was of a pale grey-greenish colour, while the quills were dark grey, decorated with bronze rings.

The kroot all wore vests made of brown leather, but no armour, their gear loosely attached to their clothing, mostly knives of various sizes. In addition they all carried kroot rifles, except for one, which had received a Flamer, no doubt given to it by their human employers. The kroot rifles themselves were primitive looking weapons, their design derived from fighting staffs, additionally armed with blades near the muzzle and stock. These weapons were just as much intended for melee as they were for shooting. Not that Cyrus planned to give them enough time for either.

The lone hound looked somewhat like a four-legged kroot, though more canine in appearance and its snout longer, while the quills covered its shoulders. Cyrus knew of the powerful jaws of these xenos, capable of lethally injuring even Astartes in power armour. With only scout armour, this beast would prove the most dangerous. As he watched the patrol it became clear that the hound was too far away from any kind of cover for Cyrus to sneak up and take it out without giving it time to react. Even if he somehow could, he would be in too great a distant to engage the kroot, while he still had the element of surprise. No, he needed to attack the kroot simultaneously with Maccius, preferably taking them out before the hound joined the fray.

Cyrus drew his two combat knives and waited. He was only a few steps behind the patrol, which was still feasting undisturbed. The Astartes' scent hadn't been noticed by the xenos' rather keen senses, likely because of the blood covering their beaks. Their guard was probably low in general; after all, never before had they come under attack on this distant little planet. Not that kroot were known for their strict discipline. Finally there was a single tap, coming from his vox. Maccius was in position and ready to strike. No more delay.

Immediately Cyrus sent back the same signal and moved, swifter than before, still his steps hardly made any sound. The fog parted before his feet, his cloak fluttering behind him, slipping from his left arm. No longer was the striking silver coating covered and shimmered conspicuously in the twilight. The Blood Raven saw one of the kroot lift its head and he leaped forth, knowing he could not grant these xenos time to react.

Deeply his knives dug into the backs of two kroot, effortlessly cutting through leather and flesh alike. Their bodies twitched, a screech emerging from one's throat, as the impact and Cyrus' weight flung them forward over the carcass. The other xenos were taken by surprise by the Astartes' sudden appearance, as Cyrus twisted the knives inside his two victims. Their bodies buried one of their ilk beneath them, the other three kroot drawing their own blades, when a shadow appeared behind.

Maccius' claw came to life, blue lightning dancing between the four adamantium blades of his gauntlet. One of the kroot managed to turn its head, just as the single lightning claw cut through its neck, severing the head from the body, while one blade sliced through the beak, shattering the face, spilling blood. As the kroot next to the one Maccius had slain attempted to leap at him with something in its hand that looked like a cleaver, the Raven Guard dug the claw into its chest. He cut downwards, devastating the entire ribcage, the tips of the blades having re-emerged at the back, dripping with the red liquid.

Cyrus pulled his knives out of his victims, hearing a vicious cry behind him. He turned swiftly, seeing the kroot to his left coming at him with a long curved knife, jaws wide opened. Only from the corner of his eye did he see Maccius throw his own combat knife, the blade finding its mark in the kroot's throat, rendering it silent, blood gushing from the wound with each heartbeat. The hound meanwhile was back on its feet, likely seeing in the lightly armoured Blood Raven the easier target, as it first came running and then leaped at him.

Quickly Cyrus dug his blades into the still standing kroot and using his weapons like a meat hooks, Cyrus pulled the alien closer to him, bringing it between the hound and himself. The hound landed on the kroot's back, the body turning limb as it died, the Blood Raven feeling the impact pushing him back a little, as the thick carpet of conifer needles offered little resistance. He snarled and pushed the body with the hound away from him and towards Maccius. His brother caught the aliens with his lightning claw, the hound howling briefly with a high-pitched voice, but death came swiftly, ending its misery. Both bodies, only held together by a few ligaments, were tossed aside several meters by the force of Maccius' strike and thrown against a nearby tree.

Only the one buried beneath the two kroot Cyrus had pushed across the carcass was still alive, having finally managed to remove one of its ilk off itself, an angry snarl escaping its beak. Without hesitation one of Cyrus' knives came forth. Just as the alien attempted to get back on its feet and attack the Blood Raven with its sharp claws, the blade went into its skull from below, up into the mouth, before Cyrus cut deeper into the flesh, slicing pharynx and throat alike.

There was only a final gargling noise as the body twitched one last time and Cyrus straightened up again, wiping the blood off his blades at a piece of kroot leather. Maccius recovered his own from the other alien's throat and deactivated his lightning claw, the blue glow disappearing. "You kept your word, Cyrus." The Raven Guard noted as he regarded the hound, his back briefly turned to his brother as he did. "However, I did not expect you to offer one quite so freely."

"You seemed unoccupied, brother."

Maccius chuckled, a slightly distorted sound, coming through his helmet. "How considered." He once more looked about. "The next patrol will arrive in no earlier than an hour, so there is no point in hiding these bodies."

"Agreed." Within the next hour, the Kill-team would start its assault on the temple itself. "Let us keep moving."

Cyrus put his knives back into their sheaths, one at his leg, the other on his arm, while the Raven Guard merely nodded, before he got walking. His brother followed, as the fog reclaimed the ground behind them, covering the remains of their enemies like a blanket of snow. Their way led them uphill, ever growing steeper. Rocks appeared more and more, like little islands in the mist, which finally seemed to be getting thinner. The sounds of birds returned, the branches and twigs above them rustling with activity. More light was now coming into the forest, the night slowly fading as it truly became morning, the air getting warmer.

They had walked for about a quarter of an hour, keeping some distance between on another like before, when Maccius suddenly stopped. Cyrus frowned as he watched his brother examine something on the ground, moments later waving him over. Moving from tree to tree the Blood Raven joined him and looked at what Maccius had found, partially hidden by a shrub.

To their feet lay a kroot, not like the ones they had killed in the depression, but a Shaper. These aliens were the leaders of the Kindreds, the kroot clans. As kroot could develop, according to the DNA of prey they had eaten, Shapers picked the game with desirable traits, which their Kindred should eat in order to adapt, so their foes could be fought more effectively.

This one was a little larger and muscular than the others the two Astartes had encountered so far. It wore a brown mask that covered its head, though leaving its short round beak free, made from the same leather as its clothing, while something like a primitive amulet, a necklace made of small bones and a bird skull, hung around its neck. A deep cut from the left collarbone to the right hip went across its body, surprisingly without any blood spilled. Without a helmet or mask Cyrus smelled burned flesh, despite the strong odour from the Shaper itself.

"A single clean cut; this is not the work of a beast or its own ilk." Maccius noted, turning his attention from the corpse and observed their surroundings with keen eyes, as if he hoped to find traces of what had killed the kroot.

Cyrus kneeled down and examined the wound more closely, running a finger along the long and deep cut. "The edges are cauterized." He told his brother, his eyes narrowing. "Power weapon." A very sophisticated one at that.

"House Vendedor?"

The Blood Raven shook his head. "Doubtful; why kill a single kroot out here? An execution would have been held in front of an audience to intimidate the xenos and I don't believe that a mere human could have killed a kroot this cleanly in a fight." After all, kroot tended to be faster and stronger than a normal human and this was Shaper; not the easiest opponent to take on, at least not in close combat.

Briefly Maccius looked at his brother. "That would mean someone or something else is here with us."

"Perhaps the Inquisition keeps an eye on us." Cyrus suggested, getting back on his feet. He didn't suspect followers of Chaos, not with the soldiers being certainly already corrupted, unless there was a rivalling cult, which opposed House Vendedor. Besides, he had seen such a wound before, they both had and it had not been the work of a human.

The Blood Raven could hear the snort of displeasure, though it was muffed by his brother's helmet. "It does sound like something they would do, though I loathe the idea." He confessed, his voice betraying his resentment, as if the thought offended him. "If they do not trust us or our skills, they should not have summoned us to the Deathwatch."

"There is another alternative." Cyrus reminded him, his finger pointing at the incision and looked about meaningfully, though the forest yielded no allusions.

Still, Maccius understood. "Eldar?"

* * *

She watched them from further uphill, a long rifle resting in her hands, matching the colours of the forest around her. Her cameleoline cloak moved gently in the breeze as she crouched down, leaning herself against the tree next to her, wrapping herself in its shadow. She had known of the Losseainnes, the Space Marines, actually having waited for them; a more perfect distraction she could not have asked for.

They had found her victim, the Shaper, which had snuck through the forest, dangerously close to finding the Astartes. Yaidev Sionnarie smiled behind the green cloth that covered her mouth and nose; she had watched them for some time, traced their every step. Her success depended to a great extent on theirs after all; at the very least they needed to attack the temple. One of them moved, a man wearing lighter armour and with for a Space Marine unusual long, dark blond hair that almost reached his shoulders. His cloak was brushed aside by a branch as he rose back to his feet, not much, but enough for the eldar to see the badge upon his right shoulder guard.

"Haras Anastari." Blood Raven, she whispered to herself. The other one's badge had been revealed to her when they had slain the kroot patrol and was of a chapter known as the Raven Guard. Admittedly she was rather impressed at how silently he moved, even with the voluminous shell that was his armour. Not yet a match for one like her, but impressive nonetheless. Such thoughts would perhaps seem haughty to one not of her kin, however she was not only an eldar; she was a Pathfinder after all.

Many centuries she had spent on the Path of the Outcast, a Ranger, travelling the galaxy with others like her, fighting alongside craftworlds in need of help, or bringing them warnings. But despite all this time, Yaidev had never again felt the need to return to her home, to Saim-Hann or her clan, instead she was lost, as her kin would say and would stay a wanderer for the remainder of her days. But her skills in the art of stealth and survival surpassed those of any common Ranger, only matched by others like her.

To this world Yaidev had been sent alone, something that suited her well, as she was a solidary Pathfinder. The Farseer, who had entrusted her with this mission, had assured her that she would require no assistance aside from the Space Marines, who would unwittingly do as the eldar wished. In this Yaidev had not questioned the seer, since it had been Methran'el of Saim-Hann, he who had been her mentor, when she had walked the Path of the Seer centuries ago.

He had also her told her of this world's history, the war that Saim-Hann had fought against the aliens, which had lived her millennia ago. It had been not too long after the Fall, before the human Imperium had come to exist. Peish'Chiall had the eldar called their enemies, a reptilian race and worshipers of the Ruinous Powers. Her ancestors had extinguished them, destroyed all that they had built, all but the temple the Cresistauead had so recently uncovered.

Evil still lurked within its walls, even after all these millennia. Perhaps it should have been left forgotten, but now that the humans claimed the Peish'Chiall's artefacts for themselves, there was no other option but the annihilation of all that had been tainted. Yaidev smiled amused; it would seem that once again, Losseainnes and eldar were of the same mind. It didn't happen often, but this was not the first and certainly not the last time it would be this way. But of course there was something else, which she needed to accomplish beforehand.

The two men she watched got moving again, merging admirably well with their surroundings. Not that they could utterly vanish from her sight; the fog alone was too treacherous, fleeing from their steps. Yaidev brushed a strand of crimson hair from her face and left her cover, disappearing utterly in the twilight. She too needed to move on, reach a suitable position from which she could exploit the coming storm.


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

When the Astartes arrived at the cliff the sun had finally reached the treetops. Once, likely millennia ago, a river had run through this part of the forest, digging itself into the landscape, eventually having created the ravine before them. Today it was dried up, without a single drop of water, the ground about fifteen meters below Cyrus and Maccius' current position.

Large boulders littered the riverbed, which ran past the two Astartes towards the north-east, while in the next bend a metal staircase climbed halfway up the ravine's wall. Even from the side they could see pillars and a doorway in the stone, the simple exterior of the alien temple. The stairs themselves were flanked by barricades, three on each side, creating terraces on which the human soldiers had taken position.

Cyrus examined their defences through his scope, counting twenty-three men, checking weapons, or passing time with other, casual activities. They were dressed in the same armour as any Guardsman, the colours matching those of the ravine, shades of brown and red. None seemed to expect an attack, the heavy weapons abandoned at their posts at the barricades. In total there were only six of them. As poorly defended as this place was, it seemed almost unreasonable why the Deathwatch had been assigned to eradicate it. Still, given what they knew, Cyrus had taken with him blessed rounds, a precaution he hopefully wouldn't need.

His attention diverted back to the ravine and its occupants. Groups of kroot were roaming the riverbed, others tending to their equipment, same as their human allies. Angry snarls indicated a fight between two of their ilk, the aliens going at each other with claws and beak. All in all there were more kroot around than humans and even if they weren't armed all that well, their great number could prove problematic. Then again, Kill-team Schiavona was led by a Rune Priest.

Soon enough the two battle-brothers heard the sounds of heavy footsteps behind them, though they were slightly deadened by the soft ground. The Blood Raven turned his head, just as Volund emerged from behind a tree, the others following closely. Cyrus and Maccius slid down the hill from the cliff back between the trees to meet them, the Rune Priest greeting them with a smile. "We've come across your latest kills, bothers. I'm glad to see the Mjod of last night has not affected your skills." He told them merrily, his voice kept low.

"If what you desired was a somewhat lasting effect, you should have brought more, brother." Maccius replied, his good humour having returned.

Volund gave him a toothy grin. "Well, I couldn't have you drink it all; we will need plenty for tonight."

There was a chuckle from the Salamander. "Perhaps finally we will even get Cyrus to share a laugh with us."

"Keep you ambitions to goals you can hope to achieve, Nadim." The Blood Raven replied mildly, before he turned to Volund, his expression growing grimmer. "There is another matter. One of the kroot, a Shaper was killed by someone else, before Maccius and I got here."

The Priest's eyes narrowed, a seriousness taking over his voice. "Do we know who this someone is?"

Cyrus shook his head. "No, but we have our suspicions. We deem it most likely that eldar have come to this world as well."

"Eldar?" Volund considered these words for a moment, thoughtfully stroking the beard at his chin. "It would not truly surprise me; their deep hatred for Chaos is no secret and if they know of this place, they would certainly like to see it destroyed." He snorted amused. "Perhaps they even count on us to deal with these heretics, instead of losing some of their own in this endeavour."

"Cowards." Quintus growled.

"Regardless, the eldar's interest, if they are indeed here, tells me that the danger this temple represents could be greater than I presumed at first. At least it's unlikely that they will hinder our efforts." He sighted. "Let us put these thoughts aside for now; we can't even be sure of their presence here. How is our actual enemy this morning?" There was something casual about the Space Wolfs voice, as if he was not preparing for a fight but a simple walk. Such was all too common for him.

"Plenty of kroot roam the ravine, around fifty between us and the temple alone. As soon as our attack begins I suspect that around another fifty should arrive from further north-west." Maccius answered him.

"That accounts for all, minus the patrols. The soldiers?"

Once more the Raven Guard spoke. "House Vendedor's men remain at the temple itself, most inside, but about twenty-five are currently manning the barricades."

Volund nodded. "If so, reaching the temple should prove simple enough." He turned to the Blood Raven and the Brazen Minotaur, who stood close to him. "Cyrus, Dareios; move up along the treeline until you're opposite to the barricades. The rest of us will move through the ravine and deal with the kroot. No doubt, as soon as the battle begins, the soldiers will ready a defence; kill them or drive them back into the temple."

"A simple enough task." Cyrus assured him unperturbedly.

"How shall we deal with the kroot?" The Raven Guard interjected. "Their skills concern me little, but their number does."

There was a low chuckle coming from the Rune Priest. "Worry not, Maccius. They are superstitious beasts and I shall turn the very nature of this world against them." None spoke or questioned anything else. They all knew well what Volund spoke of and none doubted his abilities. The Space Wolf waited a moment longer to see if anyone else would speak, but finally nodded. "Then let it begin. Emperor be with you all."

Like the others Cyrus nodded once confirmatively, before he pulled his cameleoline cloak tighter around himself and headed out. Keeping close to the edge, just behind the first line of shrubs and trees, he moved east, his way not plain but constantly leading up and down hills, having him climb rock formations. Dareios was following him and though he trod carefully, Cyrus could hear each step; compared to Maccius it was disturbingly loud. Whenever there was an opportunity the Blood Raven looked back into the ravine, often spotting kroot, though they seemed calm, most still eating or sharpening blades, the Astartes' advance remaining unnoticed.

Once they had reached their destination Dareios took position underneath a ledge, between rocks and small shrubs in the shadow. The Blood Raven climbed another wall, further away from the edge to avoid being spotted, his sniper rifle across his back. When his hands reached the top he pulled himself up, several meters above his brother's position and crouched he moved further through the vegetation, closer to the edge again, drawing his rifle once more.

Finally he could see the temple itself again. He was looking directly at its front and as they had seen earlier in the scans and during their scouting, a broad staircase led from the dried out riverbed to the entry, a triangular doorway. The temple itself looked insignificant from the outside, as there was merely the triangular entry flanked by four pillars, plain and without any ornamentation, only weathering having taken its toll on the red-brown stone. Cyrus took his position next to a fallen tree, a rock in front of him. He placed his rifle on the trunk to be able to shoot past his cover, took aim and then waited.

...

Nadim slid down the inclination, his heels scraping off stone, creating a cloud of dust to his feet. The kroot greeted them with snarls and screeching, firing primitive rifles as the Astartes descended to the riverbed. Nadim had turned his side towards the aliens, the rounds merely denting his armour, leaving black marks on his left, silver shoulder guard. The Salamander's reply came with fire once he was close enough, scorching stone and bodies alike. Three kroot that had come running at him found their demise in that manner, just before Nadim had reached the ground.

Left to him his brothers unleashed their bolters upon the enemy, tearing off limbs, shattering skulls and bodies. The first dozen died quickly, though the sounds of battle thundered through the ravine, alerting everything of their presence. Not that it mattered anymore.

Volund had climbed one of the rocks, littering the riverbed, the bolter in his left keeping the aliens at bay, which sought to harm him. The Kill-team remained close behind him, partially surrounding his position. It would have unwise to stand in front of the Rune Priest now.

The small groups of kroot were uniting, the common humanoid carnivores and hounds alike. Nadim was standing in front of a path between two great rocks, the kroot attempting to attack from that direction quickly getting burned by his heavy flamer, before they could fire a single shot. Only from the corner of his eye did he see the bluish lightning that crackled around Volund's raised force weapon, a glaive, a long staff with a single-edged blade at end of the pole, emerging from between the fangs of a silver wolf head. The Space Wolf owed this weapon his name; the Thundertooth. The runes upon the weapon came to life, shining brightly as the Priest began to chant in a tongue Nadim did not understand. But he trusted his brother, for he had seen what would come.

Thunder from above suddenly answered the Priest's call and Nadim briefly looked up, finding himself gazing at a ceiling of dark grey clouds. The kroot paid no heed to this, as the xenos likely didn't associated the storm with their enemy. Dearly they would pay for their folly.

It was only the helmet that saved Nadim's eyes from the bright light, which came from the skies. It struck as swiftly as a white snake, the first three kroot fading in the light until their bodies could not be seen anymore. Hungrily the bolt leaped further from kroot to kroot, finding its way between the stones as if it was a sentient being on the hunt. Nadim had seen this before, but the sight still filled him with awe, as he watched the lighting running through the ravine.

The first aliens emerged from out of the light again once it had passed them, their blackened bodies smoking, collapsing upon the ground. None that had been touched by the lightning had survived and from his position the Salamander could see a dozen victims. How many more were lying hidden from his view behind rocks? Even the stones around them had been turned black, steam rising from them, the dew having suddenly been evaporated. They heard the screams of kroot, sounds of fear and pain as far as Nadim could tell and from somewhere he heard the sounds of a sniper rifle and a bolter. Cyrus and Dareios seemed well occupied.

Finally Volund lowered his hand and weapon again, his eyes turning from a glowing white to their normal blue. There was no true sign that the unleashing of his powers had exhausted him, but Nadim saw that his breathing was a little deeper, as well as a few fine pearls of sweat upon his brown, which a casual beholder would not have noticed.

The Space Wolf stepped from the stone to the ravine's ground, moving on without saying a word. He didn't need to give an order. The other four Astartes followed him towards the temple, weapon ready, despite the sudden silence.

The screams of kroot had grown quieter until they had disappeared, though Nadim doubted that they were all dead. As Volund had noted, most of these aliens were rather superstitious and surely when the lightning had come for them, many had simply run. It was likely that they would later return, once they had regrouped, but for the time being the way to the temple was free and its fortifications would soon serve the Astartes, when the aliens came back.

Blackened corpses lined their path, until they reached the stairway and barricades. No enemy met or opposed them as they climbed the stairs. Nadim looked to his left and right, seeing only bodies in pools of blood. Their brothers had fulfilled their task without fail. Even before he had reached the uppermost plateau, the Salamander saw the triangular doorway, leading into darkness, several soldiers lying in front of it with large holes in their backs and heads.

As soon as all five had made it up, Nadim took position at the entry, looking down a long, dark corridor with only a dim light in the distance. He could hear voices as well, people shouting, but the Salamander would make sure that all who tried to attack the Astartes would go up in flames.

"Schiavona, regroup!" Volund bellowed loudly behind him, his voice echoing throughout the ravine. From the corner of his eye, Nadim saw Cyrus and Dareios emerging from between the trees and sliding down the steep slope, each with one hand on the wall to keep themselves stable. It didn't take them long to get up the staircase and join the rest of the Kill-team, Volund looking satisfied as they had. "Well done. Maccius, Dareios and Quintus; you will remain here and fight of the kroot upon their return. Do not engage them in close combat unless necessary, count on your bolters. Everyone else is with me."

Nadim saw Cyrus frown and the Salamander shared his surprise; with a sniper rifle, his brother would certainly be of more use outside, rather than the close quarters of the temple. Still, neither of them objected. They knew that Volund certainly had his reasons for this decision, perhaps something the runes had told him. It wouldn't be the first time.

The Wolf Priest took the lead, followed by Nadim, Seneca and Cyrus. The corridor was steadily moving downwards and slim, forcing them to walk in single file. The dim light grew brighter and the voices died; the soldiers seemed to have noticed that the Astartes had entered the temple. Nadim observed that there were several lamps along the wall, though none was burning. If the heretics were hoping that the darkness would impede the Space Marines, they would soon learn how mistaken they were.

"Ah; it is as if a veil has been lifted from my eyes." Volund noted, his voice echoing in the empty hallway. "Wait" The Space Wolf suddenly stopped. "No! We must hurry!" He started running, without explanation of what he had sensed and it worried Nadim all the more. There was rarely something that could unnerve the Rune Priest so.

They ran after him swiftly, the slant becoming steeper, until they passed two doorways, one to their left, the other to their right, both triangular again. No light came from either of them, but thanks to his helmet Nadim could see shades in the darkness. Were they trying to ambush the Emperor's Angels of Death?

"Nadim." Volund spoke, suddenly stopping and turning to his brothers. "Please show them the Emperor's mercy."

"Gladly, brother." The Salamander replied with a grim smile. He turned around to the left doorway and pulled the trigger. The fire filled the corridor in front of him with bright flames and cries of agony, some soldiers managing to fire a few shots, but the laser rounds only hit the walls, or bounced off Nadim's armour. Standard lasguns; they would need better than that.

Suddenly he heard angry cries behind him, coming from beyond the other doorway. He was about to turn around, when Seneca showed up, his frame blocking almost the entire passage. "Keep going! This rabble is ours." The Apothecary shouted over the sound of his bolter, cutting down the soldier trying to come from their right.

Nadim only saw Volund nod, before he started running again, Cyrus behind him. The Salamander turned back to the left doorway and pulled the trigger once more, burning corpses soon littering the short hallway, as well as the room beyond. Such would be the fate of all heretics here.

* * *

She had been quick, a mere shadow in the twilight, when she had climbed from a cliff to one of the few air ducts, leading into the temple. The humans had created them to ensure the circulation of air and so they had been crudely drilled into the stone, yet were broad enough for her slender body. Still, it was a great fortune that she did not fear tight spaces.

Yaidev moved on all fours, her sense of smell now as important as her eyes. She was dragging with her a rope, which she would later use to leave this cursed place again. Something felt wrong about this place, the taint of Chaos was heavy in the air; her very soul trembled at the sensation. Nevertheless she moved on, taking several turns before she found the hall she'd been looking for. It was the lowest room of the temple and as she had expected it was abandoned.

She slipped out of the duct and landed soundlessly on the ground about two meters below. The hall was not too large in scale, maybe ten meters broad and thirty long. To her left was the actual, triangular doorway, from which one could walk straight through the hall, a row of simple pillars to each side, towards a great statue at the end. It was the only decoration in the otherwise empty and unornamented hall of red stone, perhaps the last representation of a Peish'Chiall.

It was a bipedal, reptilian creature, a long tail wrapped around its clawed feet. The body itself was humanoid and covered with scales, though the head appeared bird-like, with a curved beak full of teeth and fierce eyes, several small horns growing from the back of its head, almost like a crest. The Peish'Chiall was dressed with a simple cloth wrapped around its hips, reaching down to its feet, the sides open to allow its legs to move freely.

From its two arms grew feathers, while in one palm it held an emerald gem, glowing weakly in the dimly lit hall. In its other hand, the Peish'Chiall held a wickedly bladed dagger, the tip pointed at the spirit stone as if it was about to destroy it. The display disgusted Yaidev deeply, one of her hands clenching into a fist as she approached. No, this soul would find its way home. "Honoured Autarch." She whispered to herself. The coldness that had seized her ever since she'd entered the temple had grown and she felt her heart beating against her chest. Yaidev's instincts were telling her to leave, her body was tense, seemingly ready to run on a moment's notice, but she was determined to see this through.

"A guest has arrived and no mere human. Do feel welcome." The voice that had spoken was neither male nor female and sent shivers down her body as she looked around.

It seemed to merge out of a pillar's shadow, a pale, violet beast about three meters tall, walking on four limbs like a cat of prey, though the hind limbs ended in cleaved hooves, the front ones in wicked talons, like those of an hawk. From this body rose an upper, humanoid one, which appeared to be male, but with a right, exposed female breast. The head was unlike any existing animal, elongated, though with its black antlers similar in appearance to a stag. Purple scales and thorns covered its back, all the way to its whip-like tail. Each of its two long, muscular arms ended in four long, black talons, each about as long as one of her own arms. It looked at her with cold black eyes, hushed chuckles resounding from everywhere.

"Daemon." She breathed, backing off several steps, a cold fire seizing her body now. "How could one such as you have been summoned?" The Farseer had told her of this beast, at least about the possibility of this encounter. How she had wished he'd been mistaken; after all, there was no human psyker among those simple soldiers.

It chuckled. "I was already in this plain, if not in body, but trapped in a mere object to watch over your precious gem. Many years have I whispered to the humans, until my essence was bound to flesh from which it could be born. They did not even realize what I made them do." The daemon looked up to the ceiling, as if it could see through it and watch the humans in the rooms above. "Have you not wondered why so few humans are standing guard over this place? All who've come here have embraced Chaos. Sacrifices needed to be made and soon the blood hungry fools of Khorne sought to offer the followers of my Prince to their patron. Replacements were needed. What you have seen up there are mostly fresh disciples, whose conversion we have only begun."

"Their conversion is at an end. Space Marines have come and they shall see to it that this place burns." Yaidev had found her courage, her voice dripping with disdain.

"Including you." The foul thing reminded her, beginning to roam the space behind the pillars, letting the few, pale lamps cast ominous shadows upon its body. "I knew your kind would come for this." The daemon hissed and countless whispers in the air seemed to repeat its every word, a long talon pointing at the spirit stone. "But I will confess, I hoped more would appear; more souls for my feast."

Her dark eyes narrowed as she hissed. "My soul is not for your pleasure or consumption, daemon. I shall banish you back into the warp where you belong."

"Brave words, but they shall prove futile." It spoke almost gently, but its burning aura undid the effect. "Many spoke much the same before I ripped the essence from their bodies."

"I will suffer no such fate."

The daemon chuckled. "How I've longed to taste eldar again . The humans here are pitiful; their souls are like the water of the seas. I consume them for I have nothing else, but now I thirst even more for proper." It licked over its fangs. "Nourishment."

"I have not come to listen to your allegories, daemon." Yaidev replied, showing herself unimpressed; this was not the first of its ilk, which she had faced and she knew that she had the means of dealing with this one too.

"Forgive me, but I have been so bored." It spoke as it continued to roam behind the pillars, its eyes fixed on her. "You, young eldar are the first interesting thing to happen here, since I was unwittingly summoned."

"I was told of your presence, daemon." Finally she drew her weapon, the smooth wraithbone shimmering even in the twilight. "And I have not come unprepared." She carried with her a witchblade, the force weapon she had once received on the Seer's Path, double-edged, designed so she could handle it with one or two hands. The blade itself shimmered in shades of silver-white to violet-blue, almost as if it was made out of nacre, while the hilt itself was of the same colour as bone, adored with a few azure gems.

The daemon's black eyes narrowed. "A witchblade? Your mind is unprotected by your precious Paths, eldar." It mocked her, though its voice was bereft of all amusement.

"It is disciplined enough." Yaidev promised it, in her mind residing the mantra she had learned as a Dark Reaper, her eyes turning white. "And this will not take long, monster."

A cold laugh. "Indeed." And with a vicious snarl the beast launched itself at her.

* * *

The screaming and the roaring of Seneca's bolter followed them all the way down. Volund ran as fast as the steep slope permitted, his teeth gritted. He could feel it, the aura spreading from below like a cold and vile wind upon both his body and mind. The temperature around them grew colder and soon his breath could be seen as fine, white mists in the air, frost covering the walls now. Sorcery was afoot.

Cyrus was right behind him and he could hear his brother removing the normal rounds for his blessed ones. Even though the Blood Raven was no psyker, the signs were unmistakable and Volund assumed that his own behaviour spoke volumes; his friend knew him well enough by now.

Deeper and deeper the corridor brought them, but the dim light at the end grew bigger. Volund heard voices, low chanting, though the meaning of the words escaped him. Frankly he didn't wish to know. A thin layer of ice was now covering the floor and the two Astartes almost simply slid down the last few meters to the passage.

Beyond it a hall had been constructed, great in its dimensions but lacking any ornamentation aside from countless pillars that were supporting the high ceiling and a construction at the other end of the room. It was clearly an altar, a block of marble with strange symbols having been engraved into it, covered with dried and fresh blood. Candles were standing everywhere in the hall like colonies of mushrooms, while skulls lay around the altar and upon it, human, kroot and animal in origin, some cracked, others carefully cleaned.

Without ever stopping Volund ran towards it, lightning dancing around the blade of his glaive, his wild roar echoing in the hall. The source of the sorcery were eight men, all standing in a circle on marks of blood, a ninth in their midst, swaying back and forth as if he was in trance. They were soldiers, but had rid themselves of their armour, their arms cut open to allow their blood to drip to the floor. None seemed to take notice of the Space Marines' arrival.

"Cyrus! Kill them all! Quickly!"

But his brother hadn't needed such advice, the first shot having been fired before Volund had finished shouting. A heretic's head exploded in a shower of blood, his body knocked away like a ragdoll. Volund had almost reached them.

Suddenly the cultists were lifted into the air, floating there, bleeding arms spread, the one in the centre twitching uncontrollably. He could hear it now, whispers in the air, a deep voice, full of malice and rage.

All at once they exploded, but blood, tissue and bone, were pulled towards the centre. The lamps lining the wall shattered, the candles flickered but survived the sudden release of psychic energy. The impulse managed to push Volund back, but he remained standing. They had been too late; the barriers between the warp and reality were shattered.

Smoke rose from the markings on the floor, covering the mess the heretics had left behind. Then dark laughter filled the hall. Volund gripped his force weapon more tightly, briefly looking back at Cyrus, who kept himself at a distance next to one of the pillars, aiming at the smoke.

"More blood!" The voice spoke, followed by another laugh. "More blood, for the Blood God!" With a thundering roar the smoke suddenly moved with unnatural speed. A heavily muscled, crimson skinned arm appeared, the back of a clawed hand hitting Volund against the chest, tossing him against a pillar behind him. He growled as he hit the stone, parts of it breaking off, but he was not concerned for himself.

More and more became visible, legs ending in hooves, bat-like wings. It ran towards Cyrus, the Blood Raven quickly firing another shot, though Volund could not see where he had hit the daemon, only hearing a snarl from the beast. His brother dodged the daemon's attack, while a great, wickedly bladed axe, covered with thrones, reduced a pillar to rubble. What neither of them had seen until now was a long tail, ending in some sort of bony club. In a blur it appeared, catching the Raven in his midsection, knocking him off his feet.

"Cyrus!"

His brother's body was thrown against a doorway, one which Volund hadn't noticed until now, the Raven's back against the corner. The blow had been delivered with great force and Cyrus' body ended up in the corridor behind the passage, large cracks showing in the wall where he'd dashed against it, stone having broken off. Enraged Volund stormed towards the daemon, which walked towards the passage, before slamming its tail against the wall just above it. Everything around the doorway, both wall and ceiling appeared to collapse, a wave of dust suddenly clouding Volund's vision. Quickly he summoned his powers, a sudden wind clearing the air. Baring his teeth he looked at the beast that now stood before him in full view for the first time; it would pay dearly.

...

Maccius' bolter roared fiercely, cutting down the kroot that attempted to climb the stairs or bare stone to reach the upper plateau. They had returned as promised. His brother Quintus stood to his left, adding his firepower to the slaughter, though often his attention would turn to the wall behind them and the handful of kroot that attempted to come at them from above. Dareios meanwhile picked his targets more carefully, his Stalker pattern bolter rupturing skulls and chests without fail, even though his pace was much slower than that of his brothers.

The kroot however soon adapted and kept themselves well hidden behind the rocks until they needed to head up the stairs and cross the barricades. By now the steps were red and slippery from the blood of dozens of their ilk, but it did not stop them.

Maccius growled, when his magazine was spent again, the bolt hitting only air; especially with the lightning claw at his right hand, reloading was a difficult task, one he saw he would not have the time for. The kroot were fast, running with inhuman speed, as they fired their primitive guns, or simply held their knives and cleavers high into the air. Quintus was still firing, the few enemy rounds that actually hit him were being ignored by the Red Scorpion, as they were unable to wound him so far.

A few more steps. The lightning claw came back to life, glowing with blue light, while he put away his bolter and drew his combat knife with his left hand. It was not a moment too soon. A kroot leaped at him with some sort of machete, covered in dry blood. Swiftly the Raven Guard moved aside, slicing the xenos to pieces with his claw even before it landed. At the same time he had stepped forth and to meet a hound, his hand being swallowed by the beast, but the knife dug itself into its brain, emerging at the top of its skull, as it still clawed at his armour. He tossed it away from him, letting the body tumble down the stairs, as even more came.

A shot suddenly hit the barricade in front of Dareios, breaking off a huge chunk, the Minotaur quickly seeking new cover. Maccius spotted two krootox at the bottom of the staircase, large beast, in appearance similar to the normal kroot, but larger, moving on all four limbs, arms longer and more muscular than their hind legs. On each stood a kroot handling a kroot gun, which rounds were capable of piercing power amour.

"Focus your fire on the krootox!" The Raven Guard shouted, his claw shattering another kroot's skull. "Do not let them reach us!"

Like living tanks the two beasts ran up the stairs, the kroot already on the staircase dodging them. They fired at both Dareios and Maccius, the former thus unable to return fire. Quintus however was not in immediate danger, the normal kroot too far away from him and their range weapons ineffective. His own rounds found their target, shredding one of the riders, wounding the krootox in the process. The beast howled, though it was hardly wounded, and without a kroot guiding it, turned away from the battle and ran off into the ravine, knocking away everything in its path. They were still only animals in the end.

Hounds followed the second beast up, reaching the upper terrace first, only to be greeted by Maccius. With knife and claw he tore them apart, as one bit into his leg, actually cracking the armour. While he held off one that had gone for his head, a hand at its throat, simultaneously stabbing the lighting claw into it, two others tackled him at once, managing to throw him off his feet. Like a pack of hungry wolves the descended upon him, trying to bite through his armour. His claw slashed through the two on his chest, the third killed by Dareios with a round through the head.

By then the krootox had reached them. Like a battering ram it came through the barricade, the debris hitting Quintus just as he was about to fire upon it, a shot from the gun missing Maccius by inches. The beast itself charged Dareios, who too had been hit by debris. His Stalker bolter was not back up fast enough to fire even a single shot before he was run down, the krootox trampling him. Immediately it turned back around, with one massive paw upon the Minotaur's chest to keep him down, the other clenched into a massive fist, battering the Astartes' head.

"Brother!" The Raven Guard was still avoiding the gun's rounds, Quintus behind him busy holding off the kroot on his own, grenades exploding in an effort to keep them at bay. Maccius finally managed to get back on his feet and threw his combat knife. The blade stabbed the rider into its throat, blood gushing, before it fell off. The krootox didn't seem to have taken notice, still going at Dareios, who no longer seemed to be moving.

With a feral roar, Maccius threw himself at the krootox, his claw going for its big head. The glowing blades dug deep into the skull, the beast having been too busy to react to the Raven Guard's attack in time. Several times Maccius stabbed into its head and neck, until the body threatened to collapse and he kicked it away to prevent it from falling upon his brother.

He turned to Dareios, only now seeing the caved in helmet, having been utterly deformed. Blood ran from the cracks and his brother's hands twitched helplessly. With a heavy heart, Maccius realized that he had been too late.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Before you wonder what kind of daemons appear in this story, they are not of the normal classifications such as bloodletters or bloodthirsters. There are countless variations, so these two are from among the many uncategorised daemons, though inspired by existing designs for recognisability.


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

The dust settled and Cyrus' eyes adjusted to the darkness, the sand irritating his respiratory tract. His body hurt from the daemon's strike and his impact against the wall. He could taste blood in his mouth and the weight of stone upon his back, but he managed to remove them as he got back on his feet; he had been tossed too far into the corridor for most of the debris to hit him. Great parts of the ceiling and walls had collapsed, separating him from Volund and the daemon. He could still hear the battle raging between them, roars of the daemon, pillars turning to rubble. As he examined the debris, he quickly realized that he could not remove them on his own, not without letting more of the structure collapse, perhaps even upon himself. No, he was forced to wait for his brothers, or find another way out.

Cyrus turned around to the long corridor behind him, slim and ever descending further into the earth. The air that greeted him was stifling. At the end of the tunnel he saw light coming out of another triangular doorway, dim and purple. Cyrus frowned and began to walk, his sniper rifle ready to fire. He approached the doorway with slow and careful steps, mindful not to make any suspicious noises, as those from the fight behind him grew duller. To his surprise he was greeted by more from below.

He could hear the unmistakable sound of blades clashing, along with animalistic snarls and hisses, interrupted at times by the sound of a whip. Considering what he had already see, Cyrus was having a dark premonition of what he would find. Fortunately he had only fired two of his blessed rounds; something told him that he would have use of the others.

As he came closer a strange scent reached his nose, like perfume, but much more potent, almost mind dulling. He shook his head to rid himself of the effect and took the last step, stopping at the doorway.

The hall he'd reached was not particularly large, but just as simple as the other, two rows of pillars creating a corridor from the doorway to a giant statue of a lizard at the other side. None of this however captured his attention.

What did was the fight he witnessed. He had assumed that the eldar were on this planet and there she was. The female wore clothes mirroring the colours of the forest and a cameleoline cloak, mirroring those of the hall. The hood had slipped from her head, revealing crimson hair, which she had braided into a single tail, though shorted strands had gotten loose. Her white eyes were set upon her enemy, the hatred within them making her look even wilder, while she swung a blue-glowing witchblade with both hands.

The wraithbone blade blocked a viscous strike of long, black talons, belonging to another daemon. This one was not of Khorne but the Prince of Pleasures, six-limbed and with pale violet skin. The beast was forcing the eldar into the defensive, trying to rip her apart and it seemed it would soon succeed.

Cyrus had no love for the eldar. He respected them to a certain degree, as one would such a shifty enemy and due to circumstances he had even found himself fighting alongside them in the past, but he would never trust them. Still, once the daemon was finished with her, it would turn to him and the Blood Raven knew that his chances of defeating this enemy on his own were slim. No, a weakened eldar would certainly prove the easier opponent. He had little doubt that she too would turn on him, as soon as this monster was defeated.

So far neither seemed to have taken notice of him, or they simply paid him no heed. Either was fine by him. Quickly he took aim, believing that he had wasted enough time with assessing the situation and the eldar would not survive much longer. They moved further down the hall, the daemon's back now turned to him, head lowered and out of his view. Fine, he only needed to wound it anyway, if his assumption about the eldar was correct.

The daemon snarled in pain as a round punched a large, circular hole into its back. Had it been a living creature the spine would have been severed and the lungs would have be all but gone, yet this creature was utterly unnatural. While it no doubt felt the pain, its body tense, having stopped moving momentarily, a strange purple liquid flowed from its wound. It was certainly no blood, not in the sense of what ran through the veins of humans or aliens, but perhaps a better word was essence, as if the blessed round had liquefied parts of its solid looking body.

The opportunity was not lost on the eldar, her features briefly showing surprise. Her blade came forth like a striking snake, straight into the daemon's torso, the beast's body twitching. It looked upon the blade and then to her, just as the eldar's white eyes brightened, lightning dancing around her arms. Her face showed pure hatred and the daemon realized the danger, lifting its claw again with a viscous snarl. It was too late.

The daemon body began to tremble, its movements coming once more to a hold. Cyrus saw light engulfing the eldar's blade, a bright glow coming from out of the wound, before the beast suddenly threw its head back. No roar emerged from its throat as its mouth opened; instead it spat lightning, the bluish bolts crackling up to the ceiling above, making it rain dust upon them. Even its black eyes turned pale blue, moments before the electricity sought its way out through them as well.

Cyrus narrowed his eyes, the intensity of the light growing too much for even him to bear. The eldar fed more of her power into the daemon. A shrill howl echoed through the hall, sounding as if it came from everywhere at once and suddenly the beast began to burn. Pink flames engulfed its form, turning purple where it met the bluish bolts. For the first time the eldar made a sound, a wrathful yell, almost a battle cry.

The daemon disappeared in the flames, a mere moment before it seemingly imploded. The whole place shook, as a blast wave of fire, which threw the eldar away from her opponent rolled through the room. Even Cyrus was hit by it, the force pushing him back, though he remained standing, if crouched on his feet. Warm fire licked over his armour and his unprotected face, as the hall turned dark once more. Only a few, small lamps along the wall still emitted dim light, flickering briefly after the blast wave.

Cyrus straightened himself and looked at the scene. Where the daemon had been, only a black mark remained on both the floor and the ceiling, while the eldar stirred, lifting herself up. The green of her gauntlets seemed darker, no doubt marked by the daemonic fire, her sword lying next to her, no longer glowing with unnatural energies.

As she picked it up her movements still seemed graceful, but strangely slow. Cyrus had not yet pointed his weapon at her; there were questions he wanted answered and though he was certain he would not receive an honest reply from the alien, he wished to ask them.

She secured her weapon, the witchblade sliding back into its sheath across her back, as he walked away from the doorway further into the hall, still keeping his distance from her. When she spoke her voice was soft, almost musical, but with an undeniable weariness. "You have my gratitude for your assistance, Astartes." Her white eyes lost their glow and changed, becoming more normal with black pupils and dark grey irises, almost obsidian. She saw his frown. "Worry not; I merely removed my war-mask. I have no intention of fighting you, Anastari." Cyrus had never heard this term before, its meaning eluding him. His gaze was fixed on the alien, watching her every move.

Despite being no doubt centuries old, the eldar had a youthful face, slender and pleasing to behold, especially after dealing with daemons and kroot. His last encounter with her kin had been with a warhost of Iyanden and compared to them, her eyes were not as slanted. Physical differences between craftworlds? Likely, considering the great differences in appearance among humans. Certainly a race that was divided and lived mostly separate from one another would not display homogenous traits across the galaxy.

She looked at him without any apparent fear, before she walked calmly to the statue behind her. While she had her side turned to him, he saw a small black and stylized snake behind her right ear. He had seen it before, the rune of Saim-Hann. "Why are you here, eldar?" Cyrus finally asked.

The alien stopped at the statue, looking at a dimly glowing oval jewel, which it was holding in one of its stone hands. "It was my people, who vanquished the aliens, which once lived here. They were, as you no doubt know, worshippers of the Ruinous Powers." She placed a hand on the emerald gem, carefully removing it from its mount. It brightened shortly, as if it responded to her touch and she continued. "As their defeat was imminent, they hid what was left of their culture in numerous temples beneath the earth and managed to steal this from one of our warriors. We found all but this temple, after the war was over and destroyed them with all they held. When the humans uncovered these ruins, I was sent to return what we had lost." The alien turned back to him, her gaze meeting his. "And to ensure that what has remained of those vile creatures follows them into oblivion."

His eyes narrowed. "And so instead of sending a host, you let us fight in your stead." Unsurprising; a typical course of action for the eldar, just as Volund had assumed. She gave him a nod and walked again, stepping behind the rows of pillars to his right, apparently thinking she could simple be on her way. Or was she planning something else? Cyrus raised his sniper rifle and aimed at her.

Immediately she stopped again and spoke without looking at him. "Leave me be, Astartes and this will the end of it. My quarrel is not with your kind."

"I cannot simply let you leave, eldar." Cyrus replied, his finger closing tighter around the trigger; he was still of the Deathwatch.

Finally she looked back at him again, her almost feline eyes cool and filled with determination. Even now the alien did not seem to feel too threatened; her indifference was beginning to annoy him. "What I retrieved is of no value to you and I too wish to see all of what remains within these walls destroyed." The eldar told him, her voice still calm and soft. "Such evil should have never been created."

"Your business here is not my concern, but that you are a xeno makes you mine." It was a factual statement, nothing more.

She shook her head, before giving him a pitying smile. "Such a simplistic view; a shame you restrict your mind with such shackles." The Blood Raven only growled in response, angered by her mockery, even though he could not tell by sound of her voice, which if she hadn't been eldar he would have almost called earnest. For a moment she watched him, as if she waited for a reply, before she slipped the glowing gem into a pouch at her belt and placed a hand on the hilt of her witchblade. "But it is all too common for you humans. Now, if you will not let me pass, I must make my own way."

Not hesitating a moment longer, Cyrus pulled the trigger.

* * *

The daemon before him was easily four meters tall, almost reaching the ceiling despite its hunched posture like an ork. Brawny in build, the beast had arms about as long as its legs, the axe in its right hand. Cyrus's bullet had left a large whole in its left shoulder, blood running from it, small flames licking at the edges. The head looked like a broad bull-skull, along with the matching grey horns on its forehead and two more that grew from its jaws like tusks. Its skin looked like crimson leather and only parts of the body were covered by black armour, ornamented with daemonic faces.

As it looked at Volund, the daemon spread its leathery wings to make itself look even bigger. The Rune Priest was unimpressed; it was not the first of its ilk he had faced and such empty gestures would not intimidate an Astartes. The display lasted maybe a second before the daemon of Khorne charged him, a feral roar making the hall tremble and dust rain from the ceiling as it came running. It knocked aside another pillar that was in its way, the Wolf worrying that the hall might collapse before the fight was over.

The wickedly bladed axe came down, Volund swiftly sidestepping, letting it cut deeply into the floor. He would not survive a direct hit. The daemon was surprisingly fast, swing after swing coming for the Priest, who kept dodging, waiting for an opening. He sometimes used the pillars as cover, though he tried to avoid their destruction and thus a further destabilization of the hall. Growing frustrated the daemon snarled, smoke licking over its long fangs, its yellow eyes blazing. It suddenly leaped forth, throwing its head around as if it was trying to impale the Astartes on its horns. Quickly he blocked the attack with his pole arm, seeing the axe too late.

Volund managed to turn his body just in time, the bronze blade hitting his left shoulder guard. The silver piece of armour shattered, the force knocking the psyker off his feet and to the ground a few meters further. Burning pain radiated from his shoulder, Volund already seeing the daemon coming to deliver the final blow. With a snarl of his own, he rose back to his feet and summoned his powers. He would have needed more time to deal an actually devastating attack, but perhaps he could buy himself time.

The daemon lifted its axe and Volund pointed his glaive at the beast, lighting leaking from his eyes, a bolt leaping from the blade. The blue light hit the daemon in its chest, enveloping it briefly, making it stagger. It was not defeated but momentarily slowed, as it howled in pain. The axe came down in front of Volund's feet with comparatively little force behind it, yet still enough to split stone however. The Wolf took the opportunity and leaped onto the right arm. As he swiftly climbed it, the daemon tried to swat him with it other hand, only to miss again, not having shaken off the lightning's effect yet completely. As it tilted its head to try to impale him once more, Volund met the horn with his glowing glaive, cutting clean through it.

Finally Volund had reached the back, his feet to either side of the broad neck. The daemon reared with a deep growl, flapping its wings, Volund grabbing the remaining horn from its forehead, to keep himself steady. The body lowered, still for a mere moment, muscles tensing for the next jolt. It was all he needed.

Guided by both hands, the Thundertooth came down in an arc, cutting from left to right through the daemon's neck. Lightning and fire erupted as Volund's powers collided with the beast's essence, its final roar ending when the severed head fell from its shoulders. The body shivered and suddenly collapsed sideways, Volund quickly leaping off its shoulders, before it toppled the pillar next to it.

The Rune Priest looked upon his defeated foe as he straightened up, his breathing heavy, his body breifly shivering with exhaustion, but a feeling of relief washed over him. Blood gushed from daemon's wounds, the same that had brought it into this world and the daemon would disappear again once it was spent. Emperor willing this beast would remain in the warp for a long time. Emperor willing, his brothers were still alive.

* * *

The large hole in the wall was smoking a mere second after the eldar had lowered herself to avoid the long round from the Astartes' sniper rifle. Like a cat she used this position to suddenly launch herself at him, drawing her witchblade with a wide swing. Cyrus snarled and fired anew, but the side of her blade came into contact with his barrel, misguiding the shot, letting it fly into one of the pillars behind her, the tip of her blade pointed at his throat.

Fortunately his weapon was about two meters long and given this distance she did not try and stab him, but instead brought her blade down, guiding it with both hands, as if she wanted to cut him open from chest to hip. Not willing to take that risk Cyrus swiftly took a step back, letting go of the rifle with his right hand, pulling the arm back before she could cut through it.

Cyrus knew that his weapon was now rendered useless and so let it simply fall to the ground. As her sword came for him again, this time from the right side, he drew a combat knife with his left hand, blocking her with his other arm, angling it in such a way that it met the flat side of her weapon.

His turn. Cyrus kept his arm against the blade as he advanced, his knife aimed at her throat. Swiftly she leaned back, detaching her left hand from the sword, her weapon sliding off his arm, before she swung it in a horizontal arc. He had no choice but to step back, the tip of her blade missing his abdomen by mere inches. Briefly Cyrus looked at her, still seeing no fear, only fierce determination in her dark eyes.

He knew he needed to get close, too close for her to use her sword properly. As her blade was still in motion, Cyrus took the opportunity before it came back, this time attempting to hit her torso from above, a more difficult attack to avoid, especially as she could not use her free arm to truly block the full strength of an Astartes.

What she did, he had not expected. Swiftly she pulled her sword back, abruptly flipping it so the weapon rested to her left, hilt towards him. At the same time she leaped forth, his own attack narrowly passing over her, hitting only air even though he stopped and tried to turn. Cyrus snarled as a sharp, burning pain spread from his abdomen. The eldar's blade had cut through the thinner armour of his lower torso, as she'd passed him, slicing through the body glove and into his flesh. The blade had run aslant, from his now damaged belt, close to the centre, upwards to the left for about thirty centimetres.

Quickly he turned fully around, ignoring the pain, as a thought briefly caught his attention. The eldar had not used her psychic abilities on him. Had the battle with the daemon left her too exhausted? Cyrus had no time to further consider the matter, when he heard a small object hit the ground.

For a moment he saw her, caught a glimpse of her crimson hair, before his vision was gone. Bright white light suddenly replaced it, pain surging from his eyes into his head, though he'd closed them quickly. He stepped back, tightening the grip on his combat knife, steeling himself for her next attack, listening intently.

"We are even, Anastari." He suddenly heard her to his right, calm, almost gentle and without aggression.

With a snarl Cyrus stabbed into her general direction, guided by her voice, still blind and so hit nothing but air. He tried to locate her by sound alone, impossible as it proved, since not even her footsteps made any noise. Perhaps there was a quiet rustling in the distance, something brushing against stone, but nothing else.

Slowly his sight returned, the white replaced by vague shapes, his surroundings growing darker. Cyrus looked around, as the pain in his eyes lessened, but he found no trace of the eldar, nothing stirring in the hall, as dark bars turned into pillars and dots of yellow turned into lamps along the wall. She was gone. It wasn't truly surprising that she had disappeared so suddenly, no, what did was the fact that he still lived. The eldar had missed an excellent opportunity to finish him off. _We are even, Anastari._ She had undoubtedly been referring to the daemon. Still, it was a strange sentiment, coming from one of her ilk, but then again who could predict these xenos? Perhaps there was some ulterior motive he could not conceive of.

With a sigh he put his blade back into its sheath and for the first time examined the wound she'd given him. Her blade had not cut too deeply into his flesh, though the pain was great. Like with the Shaper the wound was already cauterized by the energy, Cyrus once more picking up the smell of burned flesh. There was only a fine line of already dried blood at the edge, but the cut was already beginning to close. Still, Cyrus suspected that it would become a new scar.

With the eldar gone, there was only one more thing he needed to do. Scans had revealed that the temple reached far into the earth, too far to be utterly destroyed by bombardment. Like all of his team, Cyrus carried with him several charges, some of which he now began to distribute throughout the hall and activated.

Once he was done, the Blood Raven recovered his sniper rifle from the ground and went back to the corridor he'd come from, as there were no other paths he could have taken. Just before he stepped through the doorway he looked to his left and saw some sort of air duct in the wall. There was brighter sand, covering a part of wall just beneath it, in the shape of a slender foot. Cyrus briefly smiled; that answered one of his questions.

He began his ascend up the lightless corridor, hoping that Volund had been able to deal with the daemon they'd encountered. It was a good sign to hear rocks getting moved and familiar voices, however distorted they were. He recognized the Rune Priest's and Nadim's, though he couldn't make out the words yet. Cyrus was about to reach the rubble, just as parts of it collapsed again. Quickly and instinctively he lifted his arm to guard his head, while stones rolled past, down the corridor and a wave of dust washed over him.

"Brother." A beam of dim light and Nadim's now clear voice welcomed him, the Salamander's relief unquestionable. His brothers had created a small hole in the rubble, but large enough for the Blood Raven. Swiftly he climbed the few rocks and squeezed through, ignoring the painful protest of his wound, not wanting to risk getting separated again. He was not surprised to see signs of battle everywhere, destroyed pillars and a lot of blood. Both Volund and Nadim seemed well enough, though the latter had shrapnel from a grenade sticking everywhere in his armour, while the former looked tired, his right shoulder guard missing, scratches covering his armour. Nonetheless he smiled.

"Cyrus; for a moment I thought that the daemon had buried you beneath the rubble." Volund told him, looking rather pleased about having been wrong.

The Raven's reply came with a grim smile. "No, I was fortunate." He assured his brother.

"Sadly not all of us were." The Salamander noted, his voice having turned rancorous. "Dareios fell in battle."

"How?"

The Rune Priest sighed, almost despondently. "Maccius should tell you this; neither of us was presence when his life was taken."

Cyrus nodded slowly, admittedly feeling a little numbed. It had been quite some time since one of them had fallen and after so many years Dareios' death left a significant void in the small team. After a moment of silence Cyrus spoke again. "I have news as well; the daemon you faced was not alone."

The Space Wolf lifted his head, looking at him with a deep frown. "You faced another?"

"In a way." The Blood Raven admitted. "I found another chamber below us; within it an eldar was facing a daemon of Slaanesh."

"An eldar." Volund stroked his beard thoughtfully. "I suppose that confirms our suspicions. What happened?"

"I decided that the daemon was the greater enemy at the time. I wounded it, while the eldar finished it off. Not a trace remained."

The Wolf's eyes narrowed. "Did you kill her?"

Cyrus inhaled more deeply to suppress a growl; his failure bothered him. "I attempted to. She took a single gem and tried to leave; I tried to stopped her." With a hand he exposed the cut along his abdomen. "I believe my wound is evidence enough as to what happened next. She escaped me and fled; apparently she used the air shafts to get in and out."

"How could she escape you?"

"I believe she was a Ranger, though she used a witchblade nonetheless. She blinded me with a grenade, buying her just enough time to flee." As much as he wanted, Cyrus couldn't quite supress a touch of discontent in his voice.

"It sounds like this eldar denied herself the opportunity to kill you, brother." Nadim noted, sounding curious, though it was difficult to be sure due to the helmet. "Do you know why?"

Cyrus shook his head. "No, and she didn't even seem interested in fighting me in the first place, as I confronted her. When she left, she told me that we were even."

Volund regarded him, once more looking thoughtfully. "Well, it sounded like you've saved the eldar by distracting the daemon." He reminded his friend.

"I'm aware, though the idea that an eldar would simply return such a favour seems preposterous to me." The Raven noted.

"Perhaps this was the purpose, of which the runes spoke." The Priest's voice had become low, almost as if he had only spoken to himself.

Cyrus growled. "If so, then I should have remained outside; perhaps I could have helped Dareios. The team still could have defeated the daemon without her."

Volund nodded, lifting his hand in an appeasing gesture, wishing to calm his brother. "Of that I have no doubt, but perhaps her survival was necessary. The signs I've seen have not been clear and they are strange aliens, at times even acting to the Imperium's benefit. Yes, perhaps she will one day aid us, known or unbeknownst to her."

"And if not?" His friends trusted his runes, sometimes too much for the Blood Raven's liking.

The Wolf sighed. "Then one day you may end what you have started, or another will claim her life. Regardless, she is now gone and beyond our reach." He clarified, his voice indicating that he would tolerate no objection. "At least the daemon has been vanquished and you survived the encounter. If you feel that you honour has been wounded, take solace in the idea that you live to restore it." Volund placed a hand on his brother's pauldron, his tone turning friendlier. "The dead don't have such luxury."

Cyrus gave him a simple nod, but didn't reply. He knew it was foolish of him to feel such anger, but between getting tossed around by a daemon and letting an eldar outmanoeuvre him so easily, he found his own performance in this mission greatly lacking. Dareios' death only added to this, even if he wasn't in any way responsible.

"You said the eldar recovered a single gem?" Nadim suddenly spoke, ending the silence.

"Yes; it was small and glowed dimly." Cyrus affirmed. "It looked just like the jewels the eldar wear upon their armour."

"A spirit stone."

The Raven looked at Volund. "That is my belief." The significance of the eldar spirit stones was not necessarily common knowledge among Astartes, but after their many years of service for the Inquisition and working alongside several Inquisitors, their ken of xenos had greatly expanded. In a way, Cyrus respected the eldar for their devotion to their fallen, the protection of their souls; not that he would ever voice such thoughts.

Without another word spoken Volund began to walk and his brothers followed, neither keen to spend any more time within those tainted walls. As they climbed the slope Cyrus could smell burned flesh, sweet and utterly disgusting. He looked into neither of the two corridors they past or the rooms beyond them, which Nadim and Seneca had cleared.

Finally light appeared at the end of the tunnel, the sun now standing higher in the sky, casting warm light into the ravine. A battlefield welcomed them, the bodies of kroot and blood covering the ground, some aliens hanging across the barricades where they had been slain. Their brothers stood around the Brazen Minotaur's body, which sat upright, leaned against a rock, his helmet utterly deformed. As the three Astartes joined them, Seneca nodded in recognition, but for a while no one spoke. Nadim removed his helmet, his features showing the sorrow his voice had expressed, when he had spoken of Dareios' demise.

Eventually Cyrus broke the silence, his grave voice low. "How did it happen?"

"Krootox." Even with his helmet, Maccius' voice sounded despondently. "I slew it, but our brother was already dead."

Volund looked at Dareios with true sorrow. "His runes casted his fate in disfavour; I knew of this and thus placed him in what I deemed the safest position. It was the reason why I let him go with Cyrus, instead of advancing with us and why I didn't want him inside, facing the daemon; within the temple his death had been a certainty. But my efforts were all for naught." He sighed heavily but his tone turned somewhat solemn. "We shall drink in his honour tonight."

There was a scornful snort. "Is this the Space Wolves' response to everything? Feast and drink?"

Volund growled dangerously. "Treat carefully, Scorpion. We remember our fallen brother's deeds in life and celebrate them; such is a greater honour than mere mourning. You may remain in your chamber, Quintus." None of the Astartes spoke, but all knew that the last part had been an order. Space Wolf and Red Scorpion glared at his others, ready to go at each other's throat.

Only as the drill of the Narthecium began to pierce the power armor, the already damaged breastplate breaking around it, they eased off again. "May the Emperor grant you peace, brother." Seneca spoke once he was through the armor and stabbed the Reductor into their fallen brother's chest, kneeling in front of him, recovering the first of the two Progenoids. Apparently he'd chosen to ignore the infighting and continued his work, effectively ending the dispute in the process. "For none who died in his service died in vain. Your deeds shall live on in memory and our Emperor's gift shall pass on to another brother."

"Non omnis moriar." The Astartes replied as one, grim and solemn, their petty rivalry forgotten for the time being; not all of me shall die.

* * *

 **Author's Note** : And here the original short-story ends. One more epilgue coming up to wrap things up.


	5. Epilogue

**From Oblivion**

 **Epilogue**

Swift and soundlessly like a spectre the Pathfinder moved through the forest; not even the leaves stirred beneath her steps, or only so lightly that their movement could have been caused by a breeze. Mile after mile she brought between herself and the temple, though she stopped upon hearing a massive explosion behind her, the ground trembling beneath her feet. Yaidev allowed herself to smile, relieved to know that the horrible site no longer existed. With that the last of the Peish'Chiall was eradicated from existence.

Yaidev did not linger for long and was quickly on the move again, only pausing from time to time, whenever suspicious noises reached her fine ears. The day was approaching noon, when she finally reached her Jetbike, which she had hidden far away, so none, neither kroot nor human would stumble upon it by accident. She removed the cover, mainly a cloth made from the same material as her cloak and was soon on her way to the portal, which had brought her to this world.

The sun was high in the sky, beyond the tree tops, when she arrived in the small valley, which seemed to have been a crater once. Now it was an enchanted location, a waterfall rushing down a cliff opposite to the path Yaidev was coming from, the river lazily searching its way between the trees.

The eldar reached the valley's centre, stopping at a pair of ancient trees, at least what appeared to be trees. It was in the nature of wraithbone that it could take almost every shape and appearance its creator desired. Only if one touched upon the bark, one noticed that it felt a little too smooth and that the needles remained always the same. From each tree grew a great branch, shaped in such a way that together they created an archway. If one looked closely, the traditional shape of warpgate could be seen in the trees, though the additional structures hid it well from unsuspecting eyes.

She placed a hand on the correct location on one of the 'trunks', a shape in the 'bark's' lines, looking almost like a rune, sending out her mind to activate the ancient construct. Blue lines appeared and spread across both trees, a light emitted by the spot she'd touched. Only a moment later the shape Yaidev had placed her hand on brightened, she removed her extremity and the holographic images of a dozen runes appeared in front of her.

Using the tips of her fingers she guided them, combined the runes into a single, intertwined symbol. With a gentle wave of her hand, she 'pushed' the combination back to the warpgate, where it was absorbed by the light that had emitted it. The blue lines flared up, a flash leaped from the arching braches and ended in mid-air. Where it had struck, a spot of sky-blue light appeared, quickly growing, until there was a disk in the archway's embrace.

Yaidev smiled and got back on her Jetbike. Seconds later she was no longer on Karpos and the disk disappeared once again, leaving nothing to see but ancient trees.

On the other side, Yaidev was reaching her ship, which she had left in the shimmering webway; it would not have fitted through that particular warpgate anyhow. A hatchway lowered near the ship's rear, which she quickly ascended, up to the ship's small hanger. While it could hold half a dozen Jetbikes or other vehicles of that size, it was currently empty. The additional space was only there in case she brought along fellow Outcasts for a mission or two.

The light stones imbedded into the wraithbone walls began to glow as she entered, the hatchway closing behind her. Yaidev stopped the engine and her bike lowered to the ground until it stood silent. Her body became lax and she leaned forward, resting her arms and head on the controls, sighed and then took a few deep breaths. The tension fell off her body and mind like leaves off a tree in an autumn storm.

That daemon, oh Morai-Heg, why did it have to be a daemon of She-Who-Thirsts?

While she recalled her conversation with it, she could not truly remember her battle against the daemon, since she'd worn her war-mask; the Pathfinder was certain that she'd only survived as long as she had due to her lack of fear and her keener reflexes in that state of mind. Nevertheless Yaidev clearly remembered the shot that had pierced through the daemon and had given her the chance to finish it off.

The Losseainn's arrival had been most timely and she was grateful for it. As skilled as she was, as experienced as she'd become in her many centuries as an Outcast, there were certain enemies she could not overcome alone, or at least not without risking grave or even lethal injuries.

Eventually she sat up once again, stepped off her bike and slowly walked to the door. Beyond it she found herself in the main room of her ship, a circular chamber where the majority of the ground was covered by a lawn and fruit bearing trees, along with some vegetables, were in pots at the walls, in order to provide her with fresh food during longer journeys.

At the centre stood a tree she herself had created with wraithbone, as she'd been a Bonesinger long ago, its leaves currently green. Yaidev changed their colours every now and then throughout the year, simulating the seasons, though she liked to skip the winter.

As she stepped in, Kurnous lifted his head and got on his feet. The great dragonhound approached her swiftly and when he reached her, rubbed his head against her side as a welcome greeting. He sniffed and hissed, Yaidev first assuming that he'd smelled the daemon's stench upon her, but when he removed his head, she saw that he was staring at something else.

When she'd wounded the Astartes, some of his blood had sprayed onto her armour, the dried red drops dotting her left side. Kurnous looked at them and then up to meet her gaze, whining almost worriedly, as if he himself was wounded, the sails along his spine lowered.

Yaidev got on her knees, lowering herself to his eyelevel. "Worry not Kurnous; this blood is not mine." She softly assured him, her hands running gently over his snout and head, like some humans did with horses. He growled softly and nudged her gently with his snout, making her chuckle and smile. "I assure you, I'm fine. I had help… in a way."

It was a shame that the Astartes had chosen to fight her, though she was thankful that he'd at least helped her defeat the daemon first. She would certainly not have survived without his intervention. He'd even spoken with her, if only briefly; such could not be said for many other Losseainn she'd met over the centuries. Still, it had been imprudent of him to attack her.

She sighed and reached into one of her pouches. For the first time she could finally regard the Spirit Stone in peace, the precious gem glowing brightly in her hand. Ten thousand years had it been alone in that horrible place and truthfully the Pathfinder worried for the lonely soul within it. She didn't even know whom it belonged to. As Yaidev regarded the gem in her palm, lost in thought for a while, Kurnous sniffed it curiously. Eventually she smiled and closed her fingers around it. "Come, there is something I must return to Saim-Hann."

* * *

Kill-team Schiavona left Karpos that evening, when they were certain that no heretics or mercenaries were left alive on that world. Most Astartes were still in the ship's sick bay at the time, Apothecary Seneca tending to their wounds with the help of a few servitors.

The Ultramarine had only moments ago finished with Cyrus' wounds; a few cracked ribs, scratches and bruises, received when the daemon of Khorne had tossed him aside and of course the deeper cut from the eldar's witchblade.

Seneca had assured him that the latter would remain a scar for the rest of his days. Since it was upon his Black Carapace, it would ever be visible as a bright grey line, not the first and certainly not the last. Her blade had gone even deeper than he'd first thought, though the extent had only been revealed once the armour had been removed.

As he regarded it, he could not help but wonder again why she'd let him live, why she had felt the need to get even with him. Most eldar he'd encountered would have killed him, given the opportunity.

Of course Cyrus remembered the tattoo behind her ear. While he had never fought against Saim-Hann, he'd learned about those particular eldar during his Long Watch. They preferred fast attacks, using vehicles, mostly Jetbikes, the majority of the population belonging to so-called 'Wild Rider' clans. According to some of his brothers they were a proud people, even for eldar, claiming to care much for their honour.

He frowned; considering the traitorous and cunning nature of these aliens, it seemed they had a rather different definition of honour. Still, could it have played a part in the Outcast's decision this day? In all fairness, she hadn't even attacked him; he had pointed his weapon at her first.

Cyrus was not certain why she had not wanted to fight him in the first place. Arrogance perhaps, confidence in her own abilities? Well, she had certainly proven her skill. Even if he had heard no haughtiness in her voice, it didn't mean that she hadn't been disguising it. However she confused him still; usually eldar didn't hide their repugnance towards mankind. So why would she bother to?

Annoyed he rubbed his temple. No, these questions got him nowhere and he would not be able to find definite answers to any of them, no matter how long he pondered over them. In any case she remained an eldar and thus his enemy.

* * *

The artificial breeze was light and warm upon her face, carrying with it the sweet and pleasant scent of flowers. After the stench of daemons and their human servants, the air in the Garden of Seers was most welcomed by the Pathfinder.

Kurnous was by her side again, this time walking in front of her, stopping every now and then to examine the vegetation around them more closely. When the pond was nearby, he suddenly ran, but Yaidev was not concerned and calmly continued to walk along the path. She smiled, when the pond came into her view and she saw Methran'el sitting on the bench beneath the tree, petting the dragonhound in front of him.

"I dearly hope I must not leave him here with you, Farseer." She addressed him, her voice warm and friendly.

He looked up and smiled fatherly at her. "Yaidev Sionnarie, once more you return to us with your task completed successfully." Methran'el welcomed her and rose from the bench. "And worry not; I would not dare to take your most loyal companion from you."

"I am truly eased to hear this." The Pathfinder reached into her pouch. "How do you know that I was successful?"

"You are very much at ease and besides, I can sense the soul you carry with you. I've sensed it even before I saw you. Ah." Both pleased and greatly relieved he looked upon the glowing Spirit Stone now resting in Yaidev's palm. He took it so very carefully, as if he was afraid it could shatter in his hand.

"Do we know whom it belonged to?"

Methran'el regarded the gem. "It belonged to the Autarch Nyvian Cairadael."

It was not a name she had expected to hear. "The Morning Blade?" It had been long ago, but as a poet, Yaidev had read about this particular Autarch in the greatest of Saim-Hann's library, the Repository of Shoreless Knowledge. "She was one of the first Autarchs to lead Saim-Hann's warriors into battle following the Fall. I knew of her demise, but I was unaware that her soul had been lost to us."

"Few know of this, Sionnarie, to hide our shame, but you've earned the truth for her save return." The Farseer explained, looking at her now again. "The Autarch led our people against the Peish'Chiall, as we could not let the seed of Chaos flourish. When the campaign neared its end and our victory was certain, the most powerful psykers of our enemy sacrificed themselves and summoned a monstrous daemon form the Sea of Souls. Autarch Cairadael face this terrifying foe by herself and vanquished it, but to a great price to herself. She died from her wounds mere moments after her task was completed." He sighed and put the gem into a casket he had brought along, letting it rest on a soft little cushion. "The last of the Peish'Chiall stole her Spirit Stone, the only revenge they could still inflict upon us and vanished with it. It would seem that they took it to the temple and hidden by the runes of the Ruinous Powers, we found neither it nor Cairadael's soul."

"Until the Cresistauead stumbled upon it."

Methran'el closed the casket. "Indeed; by mere chance the humans uncovered what we never knew to exist."

Slowly the Pathfinder nodded. "And they paid dearly for their discovery. The Losseainnes left none alive; one even attempted to slay me."

The Farseer seemed a little surprised to hear this; perhaps he had expected that she would enter and leave the temple completely unseen. "I am most pleased he failed in his endeavour."

"As am I. I dread to think what would have happened to the Autarch's Spirit Stone." She placed a hand on her own jewel. "And mine had he succeeded."

"True, but do not indulge in such possibilities, for they have not come to be."

"Fortunately." She agreed.

With a gesture of his hand he invited her to walk with him and together the two eldar began to head down another path, Kurnous behind them.

They took the first steps, but then she looked at him questioningly, one of her eyebrows raised. "Farseer, the daemon I encountered proved more powerful than I anticipated and would have slayed me had I not received assistance. Did you know that or had you foreseen that one would come to aid me?"

"One daemon?" For a moment he seemed confused and frowned. "Assistance, you say? No; had I known you would require any I would not have sent you alone." He assured her. "I would not have taken the risk to lose both you and the Autarch's soul to such horrors. The skeins were very difficult to read, likely due to the powers that protected the temple. I saw no trace of a powerful daemon, only lesser, which you have dealt with before. Who helped you against that beast?"

"The Astartes, who tried to kill me." She could see mild surprise. "Thankfully he helped me slay it first."

"Did you ally with the Losseainnes?" He inquired.

Yaidev smiled and shook her head. "No; he arrived in the chamber while I was fighting the daemon. Apparently the thought of having to face that monster alone did not appeal to him."

"And he still tried to kill you." Methran'el noted, this time factually. "Their hatred for us is bondless."

She gave a sigh "Every human is taught to hate us, everything not human and fools like Eliac Zephyrblade give them plenty of reason to do so. Still, he seemed more wary than outright hateful towards me, though I did not doubt his intend, so I wounded him and took my leave."

Another frown. "So he still lives?"

"Yes, there was no need to take his life and he'd saved me only minutes before our duel. Besides, who knows how many orks, necrons or beasts he will slay, now that he still lives." A foolish sentiment perhaps, but her decision felt right to her.

"Or eldar." The Farseer added for consideration, his tone a little sombre.

"Possible, but his kind faces other enemies far more often than us." Yaidev sighed softly. "Our kin has greater enemies than the human Imperium, enemies that threaten all life in this galaxy, not just our species. So I rather have a human live and slay some of our other foes for us." Over the centuries the Pathfinder had come to believe that her kin needed the Imperium to a certain degree; it was a bulwark, breaking the waves of enemies, drawing the attention of everything else in this galaxy and thus away from the eldar.

Methran'el shook his head, but there was a soft smile on his lips now. "Your time as an Outcast has made you quite tolerant."

A smile of her own flashed over her features briefly. "It is difficult to see some, like Cresistauead or tau, purely as enemies, if you have bled beside them many times. Once you have seen their civilians live their normal lives away from the horrors of war... I hate and despise many of them still, but the galaxy as a whole has become much greyer over the centuries." Yaidev admitted thoughtfully. "But I will stand with my kin, first and foremost at all times."

"Tis' something I never doubted, Sionnarie." Her old mentor reassured her with a fatherly voice.

"I thank you for your trust, Methran'el." And she was grateful for it. "I promise that I won't belie your expectations in me."

"And I know you will keep it, as you have every promise." Even after centuries as an Outcast, she was still of Saim-Hann; to tarnish her honour by breaking her word, especially to the craftworld was unthinkable and a Saim-Hannian would rather use ambiguity to misdirect temporary allies like humans, than outright lie to them. "May I invite you for a more appropriate reunion this evening?" Methran'el asked her, suddenly changing the subject. "I would like to hear how my former student as fared in these many years since your last visit to Saim-Hann. And if you wish, I could invite some of your old friends as well; I'm certain they would be delighted."

Her mood lightened. "A grand reunion?"

"Of sorts, but there will certainly be others, who would wish to thank you for your deeds."

"What devious plan has been set in motion?" Yaidev noted amused, shaking her head with a smile on her lips.

He chuckled warmly. "Only one that will give you recognition, which you have rightfully earned. Nyvian Cairadael has finally found her way home and our craftworld will rejoice at this. As a daughter of Saim-Hann you should know that we would honour such actions."

"It is a rare thing that Outcasts are being recognized for their actions, something I have accepted long ago. Now I care more for my kin than my reputation."

"Still you acted honourably towards the Lossainn." The Farseer reminded her.

Yaidev's expression became more earnest. "I care little of what others think of me, but I care about what I think of myself. My conscious is ever attentive; and restless if need be."

Methran'el smiled. "You have changed much since we've first met, in many respects for the better, in others I cannot know yet. I will keep a watchful eye on you, Sionnarie. Someone like you can find herself entangled in the strangest of events."

* * *

It was night when the Kill-team gathered in the mess hall, their ship having already entered the warp, heading straight back to the Watch Fortress. They all had been tended to and Seneca had already prepared Dareios' body for the long journey, so he could be properly interred, while his gene-seed would be returned, along with the armour and weapons he'd brought along, to his chapter.

Quintus had not joined them as usual, but no one minded. They never really had.

Mjod was such a potent alcoholic beverage that it could even affect an Astartes. As it turned out, having the Red Scorpion drink a certain amount was unwise and though Volund had little left to share, no one was willing to find out as to how little Mjod it took to loosen Quintus' tongue further, since he was already able to antagonize everyone around him, when he was sober.

And such abilities were even less welcomed on days like this.

With the alcoholic beverage divided amongst them, Volund Thundertooth began to recount Dareios' deeds during his Long Watch, the missions he fought in as one of Kill-team Schiavona. With the exception of perhaps a handful during his time as a Kill-Marine, Cyrus had been present for all.

Eventually Volund had finished his speech and in silence the assembled Astartes raised their tankards; it was perhaps not very formal, but it was personal.

The silence continued for some time and only the sound of the ship's engine could be heard from a distance, even and calm. Everyone seemed occupied with their own thoughts and the Blood Raven was fine with that; he wasn't much of a conversationalist anyway. He still wondered if things would have been differently, if he had remained outside at the temple's entrance.

His thoughts however were interrupted when Volund spoke again, with a new subject. "I've sent Inquisitor Lysander the news of our success on Karpos. I expect his reply upon our return to the fortress."

"He's probably caught up in battle against the heretic at this moment." Seneca added for consideration, his Mjod hardly touched. "Taking down an entire noble family, their associates and private armies is difficult to accomplish in a mere day."

"If they are anything like the few we've encountered, a day should be more than." Nadim noted, remembering how easily he had turned them to ash in the slim hallways and dark rooms of the temple.

"Perhaps, though those we faced had been influenced by Chaos; they were undisciplined, even confused." The Apothecary reminded him.

The Salamander nodded. "And we were fortunate that they had not been afflicted by physical mutation yet."

"Considering how long House Vendedor operated on Karpos I was rather surprised by that." Volund pointed out, placing his tankard back on the table.

"Replacement perhaps?" Nadim suggested. "Maybe those too corrupted had to be removed."

"Likely." The Rune Priest admitted thoughtfully, stroking his chin in a pondering manner. "The summoning of the daemon I encountered had not been the first act of sorcery in recent times. It stands to reason that if Khorne influenced these men, several have been sacrificed in the past. New troops would have been needed at some point."

Maccuis' eyes narrowed as he frowned and for the first time he raised his voice. "You never mentioned what kind of daemon they'd brought to that world."

"It was of no classification I know, though given their multitude that is hardly surprising. In appearance it was similar to the bloodthirster, but not as powerful, for which I thank the Emperor. I'm not certain I could have stood up against such a beast alone."

The Raven Guard nodded. "And you encountered yet another, Cyrus?"

"Yes, but not of Khorne." The Scout replied grimly. "It was one of Slaanesh's ilk; probably the reason why it fought with the eldar over the Spirit Stone."

"Good thing it perished." Seneca spoke. "You said the witch finished it off?"

"Yes; after I'd wounded it, she slew it. Wasn't a Keeper of Secrets, but it was no lesser daemon."

"So, similar to the other daemon?" Nadim theorized.

"I suppose in a way."

"Well, it was a good thing the Inquisitor sent us." Everyone nodded at the Space Wolf's comment.

"A shame we could not capture the eldar. Inquisitor Hesiod would have been delighted after the loss of his last prisoner."

With a frown Cyrus turned to the Raven Guard. "Prisoner?"

Maccius nodded and put his tankard back on the table. "Almost a year ago the Inquisitor had somehow managed to capture an eldar Ranger alive and held him prisoner in one of his own properties. Weeks of interrogation yielded nothing and one day he left his estate on some business. The xenos had apparently waited for such a moment." He shook his head just a little, almost pityingly. "A group of Outcasts infiltrated the estate, killed everyone in their way and freed the prisoner, only to disappear again in the dead of night. When Inquisitor Hesiod returned he was naturally outraged and later gave the recordings his surveillance system had made to the Ordo Xenos and Deathwatch for study."

"The xenos didn't deactivate it?" Seneca seemed surprised, his left eyebrow raised slightly.

As he responded, the Raven Guard shook his head anew. "I viewed it some time ago. It seemed clear that they wanted to be seen; at the end one of the xenos advice the Inquisition not to take their kin prisoner. It was meant as a warning."

"Strange that Inquisitor Hesiod did not expect such a rescue operation from the eldar." The Ultramarine Apothecary continued. "They are not known to leave one of their kin behind."

There was a snort of thinly veiled derision from the Wolf. "Negligence on his part. He probably didn't expect the xenos to find him so swiftly and easily."

Maccius shrugged, somewhat indifferently. "If nothing else, he now knows better and so do the other Inquisitors, regardless of the message the xenos left behind."

"Anything unusual about the message?" Nadim enquired further.

"No, only a 'reminder' not to harm their ilk, common threats." He scoffed. "As if anyone would heed their words."

The Salamander slowly nodded, Seneca's expression remained emotionless, while Volund had his eyes closed and seemed to be deep in thought. Cyrus too remained silent on the matter, though his mind did not.

…

A couple of days after their return to the Watch Fortress, Cyrus used his few hours of free time to view the footage Maccius had mentioned. He'd encountered few Outcasts so far and they tended to stay afar from the battle, clad in shadows and hidden from anyone's sight. It made studying them difficult and his recent encounter had proven to him that such ignorance could cost him dearly. This seemed a unique opportunity to watch them.

It was shortly after midnight and Cyrus found himself alone in the great librarium of the fortress, its halls filled with ancient tomes, data-slates and other media holding much of what mankind had ever learned of the vile aliens they had to fight.

The cogitator hummed peacefully and the screen came to life with bright light. Cyrus went through the files until he found what he was looking for.

Immediately the screen's light grew dimmer as it displayed the footage of security cameras. For a second the Blood Raven was surprised by what he was shown, but quickly realized that the footage likely had been edited to only present eldar activity. Surely Inquisitor Hesiod had already done it before passing the material to the Deathwatch; courtesy of the common inquisitorial paranoia.

The mansion was certainly well furnished with works of art and trophies of a long career, causing Cyrus to knit his brow. Such unnecessary pageantry. The group of five eldar paid heed to none of it.

Though the audio was on they moved silently through the corridors, the few humans met taken out swiftly and without a sound. Cameleoline cloaks made them spectres in the twilight and without the editing, Cyrus might have seen only little more than shadows, but thanks to the cogitator's software, the xenos became more discernible from their surroundings, though there still wasn't much to see.

They hid the bodies of their victims in nearby rooms before moving deeper into the complex and down into the lower levels. The guards behind the entrance to the cellar were blinded, the shot one of them managed to fire only hitting a wall, before the door was opened wide and the two men died swiftly by shuriken.

Now the eldar no longer seemed to care about hiding their victims, as they continued to walk the hallways, killing more guards with swords, daggers and guns, until the xenos finally reached the cell they'd been looking for. While one worked on opening the thick, metal door, some of the others removed their hoods, likely for their imprisoned comrade; it would be the first time he saw his ilk in weeks.

Cyrus paused the footage. That eldar on the right. A ghost of a smile appeared on his lips as he recognized the crimson-haired Outcast from the temple. What a busy xeno she proved to be.

Along with the white-haired eldar, who had opened the door, she entered the cell and recovered their fellow Ranger, who seemed to have difficulty to remain on his feet, clearly weak after weeks of imprisonment and torture. He collapsed, the other two having to catch him.

They quickly put his arms over their shoulders and stood up with the former prisoner between them. Together they half carried, half dragged him into the hallway, the female one having a hand pressed at what seemed to be a deep wound in his shoulder, the greyish clothing red around it, though it seemed dry.

She said something in her native tongue to her comrades, as one of them, another female with brown hair, stepped forth directly in front of the camera. While her features betrayed no emotions, her blue eyes were piercing.

The Blood Raven didn't listen to what the eldar had to say, the usual threats and arrogant statements he'd heard several times before, just like his brother had said, and instead he continued to watch the one he'd encountered. Cyrus smiled; the Inquisitor would have been more delighted than Maccius had mused.

They had sat the injured one down and she was tending to the wound. She talked to her patient, who flinched every now and then, though at something the crimson-haired eldar said he smiled.

Finally the brunette eldar had finished her speech and the xenos pulled the former prisoner up and set him back on his feet. With the same two supporting him, the Outcasts moved out, naturally meeting even less resistance, only an unfortunate servant, who had left his room for a smoke at the wrong time. It was left uncertain whether he'd survived the blow to the head he'd received.

And then they were gone. The eldar disappeared into the darkness of night and the footage ended.

As the screen got brighter again and returned to the menu, Cyrus leaned back in his chair, deep in thought. Such a coincidence that she had been on the footage. He doubted that he would ever see this particular eldar again, though it was not impossible, but he knew one thing for certain: he would never underestimate the Outcasts again. If he ever encountered one in the future, he would act quickly and without hesitation.

THE END

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Nothing special just a small additional epilogue to wrap things up a bit more. For those reading " _Pathfinder",_ I suppose there have been plenty of hints concerning Yaidev's future Paths and endeavours; the next chapter is in progress by the way, no worries.

Cyrus' now often mentioned time as a Deathwatch Kill-Marine will be the subject of another story, called " _Among Men",_ though it's going to be a while until that one is getting started.

If there are questions, concerning this or another story, etc. feel free to leave a comment our PM me.

Until next time…


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